


Ruthless Games

by PlumTea



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Slow Burn, They're both terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2020-04-24 13:31:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 90,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19174288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/pseuds/PlumTea
Summary: Lucilius has lived keeping people at a comfortable distance, at least until a thief steals his bag and he ends up knocking out the wrong person. Now the stranger’s threatening to press charges— unless he agrees to a date.Well, two can play at that game.





	1. Nightmare Contagion

**Author's Note:**

> For Miyu, who suggested a comedy.

Lucilius does not run.

He could, but it’s far too much effort for so little reward. Perhaps he’ll get across the street a little faster and save a minute, how dull. The resources far outweigh the conclusion, so there’s no point.

This is an exception to the rule.

He’s always been good at weaving through crowds, slipping under the radar, but he has no time for that now. Whoever is stupid enough to get in his way will be knocked to the ground. His breath is short in his throat and his tongue is drying, but the thief that has his laptop bag has just ducked behind a businessman and he is not getting away. Lucilius has a paper to submit in three days, and all his data is on that laptop. God himself is not going to stop him from taking it back.

The thief stumbles around a mother and her stroller, glancing back. Fumbling in a panic, the thief twists down a side street, but that won’t save him. Lucilius darts after him, and there’s a man standing there, holding his distinctive black and red bag.

Lucilius’ taser speaks faster than any words could.

The man goes down in an instant, crashing against the sidewalk. The pain hits Lucilius as soon as he’s still. Fatigue is the worst; feet aching, lungs burning, a sharp pain in his side, fury and adrenaline making a mess of his insides.

He reaches for his laptop bag, eager to get away from this mess, but the stranger’s jacket catches his eye. It’s black leather, and the thief was wearing blue. Then he notices the prone figure lying on the ground behind a set of trash cans, blue jacket across his shoulders.

A dawning chill washes over him. He tased an innocent.

Lucilius weighs his options in a millisecond. He looks too distinctive to pretend to be a passerby. Apologies aren’t something he’s willing to give away either. Take back his bag and walk away.

He yanks hard, but his bag’s not moving. He pulls again, but the stranger’s grip is iron on the shoulder strap. Prying the fingers off is no good too, he can barely get them to shift. He’s gritting his teeth from the effort; maybe he should’ve taken Lucifer’s suggestion to work out.

A tug on the bag sends Lucilius stumbling forward, and something clamps onto him. The stranger’s vice grip is now on his wrist, the shoulder strap twisted all around his arm, trapping them both in place. Lucilius goes for something sharp when then comes a groggy now conscious, “What’s this?”

So much for making an exit.

The stranger garbles, words clotted in his mouth. He sits up, rubbing his head. “Ow, damn, what did you hit me with?”

“Let go, then I’ll tell—” He winces when the stranger’s grip tightens.

“You can tell me right now.” The stranger angles his head towards the unconscious thief. “Are you with him?”

Lucilius sighs. Just what he feared. “No.”

The stranger nods, slow and measured enough that he’s not just shaking off the shocks. “I think I get what’s going on now.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” Lucilius flatly asks. Not giving him any ideas, but wondering what would happen from now on. If the stranger raised a fist, then the razor in Lucilius’ pocket would be ready.

“Hurt that beautiful face? Not a chance.” The stranger shoots him a smile, white teeth lined like fangs. “Ugh, I still feel jittery. What did you do, tase me?”

Lucilius stays silent.

“Damn, you really did.”

“You’ll live.”

“Thanks, doctor.” The stranger looks wounded, but the hurt doesn’t reach his eyes. His grip lets up, and Lucilius wrenches free, bag and all.

“Maybe a second round will loosen up your mind,” Lucilius grumbles, patience wearing thin.

“You are really grateful to your savior, aren’t you? You think an angel dropped down from the skies and stopped your thief? That was all me. Don’t you think you should be a little sweeter?”

The smile on the stranger’s face is all amusement. Lucilius looks up and down the alley; no other people in sight, this stranger is working alone. If he’s working at all. “Fine. I suppose you deserve a reward. What do you want?”

“A reward, mm, I like that. Why don’t you spend the night with me?”

Lucilius stares. The stranger shoots him a wink back. He’s serious.

Acid bubbles on Lucilius’ tongue, but he holds it back. It’s been hard to concentrate at home lately. His new neighbors are college kids; four of them, and they love to party. The walls aren’t as thick as the real estate brokers advertised, and if he has to spend one more night listening to bubblegum pop, he might stab out his eardrums.

“Functional internet?”

The stranger nods, watching his eyes for an explanation.

Lucilius pulls his bag close and feels around inside it. Nothing seems to be broken. Good. “I have to submit a paper in three days. I am finishing it tonight,” he says, leaving no room for argument.

A slow blink leads to a grin. “Sounds good to me. Who am I to interrupt a workaholic?”

 

* * *

 

It’s a small studio, part of an apartment complex a few blocks away. They have to pass through a black metal fence, into an old building with doors that are far too tall. No elevator, but the stranger’s apartment is only on the second floor. The hallway is tiled, an ornate lamp flickering some dim light, and is in need of a fresh coat of paint.

The stranger’s apartment is in far better condition. It’s very tidy, and doesn’t have a lot of decorum that reflects the stranger’s taste in clothes. Some posters on the walls, and a guitar tucked away in the corner. A low bookshelf filled with books and CDs. A reptile enclosure by the dining room table. The apartment complex being off the street means that no street traffic reaches his ears. So far there’s no noisy neighbors either, a vast improvement from Lucilius’ own living situation.

Lucilius tests out the couch; not too hard, and he sinks right in. The coffee table in front of it is the perfect height to work off, just low enough that he can glance over and read what’s atop it without having to stretch far. Out come all of his hard copy references, his unsigned work notebook, and he gets to work. He is typing away when the stranger returns.

“Do you want some— you got comfortable fast, didn’t you?”

If it’s not worth answering, he’s not going to.

“Are you hungry?”

He shrugs. He’s busy, and when he’s busy he can put off eating.

Some time later, he hears his papers shift, and there’s a plate of corn soup behind his laptop. Sustenance. There’s some spiciness to it, a lot of black pepper, probably. If it’s spiked, Lucilius has enough caffeine pills in his bag for the drugs to not mean a thing.

The couch dips when the stranger takes a seat beside him. The stranger isn’t wearing a shirt. The shadow along his neck in the alleyway is actually a thorny choker of dark ink. What’s on his back isn’t mud from falling on the sidewalk, but six bat wings stretching out from his spine, three on each side. He’s physically fit enough to be a problem if something goes wrong; Lucilius shifts to make sure he can reach his pockets easily. There’s a gaze on him, on his work, but that’s nothing new. There’s hardly any privacy in the lab anyway.

Lucilius grimaces as he’s tugged closer— arm around his shoulder, pulling him against the stranger, shoulder to chest. The stranger’s cologne is strong, mixing with a faint undertone of cigarette smoke. A prickle of revulsion sparks down his spine, and he’d move, but then his laptop would go crashing to the floor.

He cuts the stranger with a glare, reminding him of his place, then resumes his work.

To his credit, the stranger doesn’t try to interrupt him. Doesn’t leave his side, offending arm still slung over his shoulder, but that Lucilius can tolerate. He glances over, and the stranger is reading through one of his references.

“Don’t ruin the order.”

“I won’t. Same place, see?” The stranger waves the clipped pages like a fan. “This is some hardcore stuff you’re working with.”

Most people don’t have the patience to sift through anything outside their sphere of interest. He’s not surprised the stranger has found himself tangled up in it. He settles into work ennui, letting his fingers carry the thoughts in his head. The words come slow but they do ease along, forward, reducing themselves, back again, then—

“Damn, it really is late. You weren’t kidding.”

Lucilius taps out the last sentence and indulges the stranger just once. “All work deserves the utmost concentration.”

“Well, I’m not one to disturb someone while they’re working. But now that you’re done, you must be stressed. Need some relief?” The stranger bends to Lucilius’ ear, voice rumbling seduction. “I’ll show you a good time.”

There’s not enough privacy to search the stranger’s apartment, and there are lots of crevices. He can almost hear those cameras humming. His arm’s being twisted enough to get him here in the first place, but the stranger could easily press harder— how much is Lucilius willing to pay so that a sex tape doesn’t go public?

“I told you I’d give you a reward, and you asked that I spend the night with you.” Lucilius turns his head so that there’s nowhere the stranger can look _but_ him. “I don’t remember promising that I’d have sex with you.”

The stranger bursts out laughing. “I did say something like that, didn’t I?”

The arm lifts up from Lucilius’ shoulders, and the stranger stretches as he makes his way to a closet. “I think I have some leftover stuff from the last gig— yeah, here we go. Are you alright with a shirt?”

He has a change of clothes at the office, and he doubts anyone would comment on him wearing the same clothes twice.

Something comes flying his way— it’s an overly large T-shirt, inscribed with some script that’s so stylized Lucilius can only guess that it’s in english.

“Want the bed or the couch?”

“Couch.”

“It pulls out, just move the table back when you’re done.”

The bathroom is cleaner than he expects. No cameras between the tiles either. Using a stranger’s shower is a strange feeling, but he needs to scrub the grime and memories off as quickly as possible.

The couch bed is small but manageable, and he can extend his legs all the way to the end. There’s a blanket thrown over the side, and Lucilius pulls it over his body. The fringe tickles his face, and it smells of the stranger’s cologne.

Sleep comes easy, after a while.

 

* * *

 

This isn’t his ceiling, and this isn’t his bed. A rush of panic swells up before Lucilius remembers the events of the night before. He squirms under the blanket, checking for evidence of foul play. Nothing to note. His phone says it’s a half hour before his alarm is set to go off.

“Rise and shine.” The stranger is at the table, and he’s still not wearing a shirt. Some people really do sleep like that, apparently.

Lucilius ignores him and starts for the bathroom to change his clothes. Nothing suspicious about his reflection, no red in his eyes or clamminess on his tongue. Safe to say he wasn’t drugged last night.

He’s reaching for his jacket when he hears, “You’re not going to eat breakfast?” The stranger waves a paper bag, and he’s already getting started on a bagel.

It’s been a while since he ate breakfast that wasn’t just the free food in the cafeteria. If someone is offering him something, there’s no reason why he should turn it down. Whatever’s in the bag could be drugged, but if the stranger was going to take advantage of him, it would’ve been last night. He trudges to the table.

In the bag is an almond croissant and a hot cup of tea. “Is this decaf?”

The stranger looks at him, insulted.

The dough is too thick and the filling is too sweet. There’s no sugar in the tea and it’s pretty flavorless.

“Finished your paper?” the stranger asks between bites.

“I still have to edit it, and then it should be done.”

“You were working hard.” The stranger licks a dollop of cream cheese off his lip. “Want some early morning exercise to loosen you up for the day?”

Lucilius takes a long sip of tea.

“Not really into that, huh?” The stranger doesn’t seem the least bit deterred. “Or just not into guys?”

“I’m not into anyone,” Lucilius says. The truth.

The stranger quirks an eyebrow. “Huh! Looks like we’re close opposites. Doesn’t make a difference to me, and it doesn’t make a difference to you either.”

Interesting. Still, that’s not enough to keep him prisoner here.

He finishes off the last of his tea and crumples all his trash into the paper bag. “I have to be at work at eight. Goodbye.”

“Whoa there.” When he picks up his bag and jacket, the stranger is in front of him, blocking the door. “Is that it?”

“Yes. Now move.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry, Lucilius.”

He never gave the stranger his name. The paper he’s working on hasn’t been published, and all of the hard copies he had on the table were references, none which were co-written by him.

“Your photo’s pretty nice.” The stranger hands him back his work card, tucking it into his sweater. “Most ID photos turn out really bad, but yours looks good. Pretty young aren’t you, heading a lab at your age. How old were you when you finished your phD?”

Lucilius taps his foot, bored. Anyone could have looked in his wallet while he was asleep or in the shower. “Are you going to interview me about my work? If not, you’re wasting my time. And if you follow me to my office, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“Hey, I’m no stalker. You’ll come to me instead.”

“And why is that?”

“Icy, but mm, you have some fire. Someone with a name like yours is bound to pop up in a search engine. Your last name sounded familiar and well, what do you know? Your dad’s quite the man, isn’t he? Is he still running Paradise, that big-shot firm up in the Fortune 500?” He leans close, whispering, but Lucilius can see the red glint in his eyes. “If I press charges, dad’s going to love that.”

Most people, when they get angry, they rise in temperature. Explode, synapses firing fury. Lucilius lets his mind cool and goes frigid. He’s all the way down to zero when he meets the stranger’s gaze. This man isn’t an opportunist, he’s a threat. “What do you want? Money? Name your sum.”

“No, no.” The stranger rubs Lucilius’ scarf between his fingers. “I want you.”

Lucilius’ eyes darken. His hands tighten around the razor in his pocket, hidden right beneath the flap. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

“Hey, I’m not that kind of guy. But mm, you’re quite the interesting person, aren’t you? Nothing’s more arousing than danger. So how about a date? Or two, or ten. However many. I told you, I want you.”

Lucilius weighs his options. Transferring large sums of money isn’t a problem— he has it— but it would raise some questions. Lucio always does like peeking into things he shouldn’t. On the other hand, this stranger’s not asking him for a favor, and those are the worst of all. Asking for an open favor is a promise, and when that hammer falls, Lucilius would have no choice but to accept, no matter how dangerous it is. Going out with this man for some time, no promise to be locked into physicalities, that’s not the worst thing in the world. Lucilius is good at acting, he’s had plenty of practice.

“Fine. I accept.”

“Oh? I thought you’d complain a little more than that.”

“Have you changed your mind? Don’t waste my time. Is that the offer you have or not?”

“It is, it is.”

Lucilius pulls his scarf out of the stranger’s grip as he picks up his bag. “I have a paper to submit.”

“Three days, right?”

“And then I have a conference to attend. I’ll be flying out the day after I submit this. It will be a few weeks.” He doesn’t have a conference, but the stranger doesn’t need to know that.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. I’ll contact you.” Lucilius extends his hand to seal the deal. “And you’re not going to give your name?”

The stranger smiles. “Sure. I’m Belial.” Belial brings Lucilius’ hand to his lips too fast for him to react. “See you in a few weeks.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s me.”

“Oh!” comes an airy voice that’s distinctly not the rumbling timbre of his father. “You never call.”

He doesn’t have time for this. If Lucio is answering, then his father is nearby. “Put father on the phone.”

A soft sigh, disappointed. “You could say hello once in a while…”

“Now.”

“It’s on speaker.”

“Lucio’s right. You don’t call unless you need something,” comes direct, a sharp prod into Lucilius’ ears. His father always maintains a perfect balance of distance and all-knowing.

“I need advice.” The quiet pushes him to go on. “How would you go about silencing someone for good?”

The deep pause is only cut down by Lucio’s flat, disbelieving, “What?”

“Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

There’s no doubt there’s some secrets that his father has managed to keep hidden. One doesn’t remain the head of a top financial firm for decades without pushing a few buttons, or doing a few illegal things on the side. Lucilius has no idea what they are, but there’s no way they don’t exist. Even after his father’s stepped down to an advisory role in the board, nobody has come to them with sordid proposals. Whatever he’s done, he’s hidden well.

“Are you in trouble?”

“No.”

“Did you do something?” Lucio cuts in, breathy the way he is when he tries to keep his composure. Lucio can get a lot done if he decides to take Lucilius’ side. Too bad he’s a real pain, and Lucilius would rather deal with ten Belials than one of his brother.

“I didn’t do anything.” A half-truth.

Some sound on the other end as his father stirs. “Hire a PI. Everyone has some secret. If you’re being threatened, find something to threaten them back with.”

“Most PIs are scams.”

“True. But I know some people, they’re reliable. I’ll send you the information.”

“The sooner the better.”

“Lucilius, wait. I think—”

He doesn’t care what Lucio thinks, so Lucilius cuts the connection. His father’s email comes shortly afterward.

The kids next door are starting up a party; he can hear voices getting louder. One of the two girls, the loud one, is yelling at her friend to stop playing his guitar. He bangs on the wall, hard, and the voices die down. Five minutes later, they’re back up to the same volume again.

He really needs to get a new apartment.

 

* * *

 

Lucilius always arrives on time. The PI said 6:30, so he’s there at 6:30.

The bar the PI picked out was a shabby one, with windows that hadn’t been properly cleaned in years and wooden floors that desperately needed to waxing. Not many patrons around, only a few tired men nursing their beers as they watch the shows leading up to the morning news. He spots the PI in a booth all the way in the back, far enough that their voices won’t carry and out of the way that nobody could pass by accidentally. She’s already ordered a coffee, lit cigarette between her lips, barely glances at him when he slides into the booth.

“Your guy.” The woman slides forward a folder. It’s a lot thinner than those in movies.

“Belial,” Lucilius reads from the first page. “Belial what? Where’s his last name?”

“It’s not illegal to not have a last name. It’s just a pain, and a lot of paperwork. Looks like he changed it when he became eighteen, but the records don’t say from what.”

Dropping the issue, Lucilius continues along the page. “Graduated with a double; B.A. in music, B.S. in biology from… hm?”

“I was surprised when I found out too,” the PI admits. “But then again, that’s all image. Who says a rock star can’t have a degree? And he’s quite well-known, this man of yours. He’s the lead singer of a band ‘Body on Body Parade’—”

Lucilius gives the investigator a hard look.

“I didn’t name it. But it’s nothing to frown at either, very large in goth metal- punk rock circles. Definitely something that’s growing in popularity. Maybe soon they’ll hit mainstream radio.”

“And the apartment I gave you, that’s his?”

“Looks like it, all his documents note that as his permanent address. Converted factory building, used to be a fancy co-op. It’s a lot less state of the art now, but it’s still manageable. Pays all his bills on time, nothing shady with taxes. Credit cards shows that he spends, but nothing outrageous. Or suspicious.”

Lucilius flips through the pages, eyes scanning for any highlights. He’s a speed-reader, and the words process in moments. “You said he’s a musician. How’s his social life?”

The PI nods, picking up on the meaning right away. “Men, women, the whole spectrum. He’s notorious for one-night stands, and groupies keep throwing themselves at him. A habit that hasn’t changed since university, it seems. ”

“Complaints?”

“None. Well, maybe some infighting between who deserves him, but that’s all fantasy gossip. Lots of fans, heads in the sky, imagining something they can’t have. You know how it gets.” When Lucilius keeps quiet, the PI picks up where she left off. “Point is, nobody’s hit him with any dubious activity. The only thing coming in through the stream is who wants to get it, not who got what they didn’t deserve. Clean too, unless you’re the type that sees cigarettes and alcohol as bad habits.”

Lucilius clicks his tongue. Weren’t musicians supposed to be wild and crazy, taking advantage of every opportunity for flesh they could get? And why would a vocalist turn into a blackmailer? “What about history?”

The PI nurses her cigarette some more. “The records are shaky, but they match the books. None of this was very easy to find, I’m sure someone went and obscured some details.”

“Something worth hiding?”

“Much simpler than that, I think. He’s a rock star. The public is nosy, nothing wrong with wanting some privacy. The last thing anyone wants is the press showing up at their family’s doorstep.”

Lucilius huffs, assenting. The paparazzi are worse than piranhas when they catch the scent of fresh blood.

He glares at the pages, expecting them to whisper some secrets, but they’re not talking.

“Is that it?”

“School records are locked. You gave me enough to cover expenses, but not enough that this wouldn’t be a PR nightmare if I’m discovered.”

She’s right about one thing— it’ll be a headache if get this got out. A rock star and an heir getting competitive would leave a crater. Lucilius would win in the end, but it would be such a hassle. Groupies get possessive, and social media witch-hunts are a nuisance.

Lucilius hands the PI her money, and takes the folder.

 

* * *

 

“Hello?” Belial picks up on the first ring, already amused.

“It’s me.”

“Mm, I’d know that chilly voice anywhere. Are you back now?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me all about your trip Thursday night.”

“Friday, after six.”

“Seven then? I know this great place to eat.”

“Give me the address.”

Belial doesn’t question how Lucilius got his number, only responding with enthusiasm that he contacted him after all, an address for a restaurant somewhere, and obscene flirtation that Lucilius blatantly ignores.

Lucilius is not above tricking people and leaving them to their own devices. He’s also not stupid enough to act recklessly when his hands are tied.

 

* * *

 

Their table is relatively close to the door, enough that one of them could flee if necessary. At the same time, the sharp nighttime breeze that comes through the door whenever a new patron enters keeps the waitstaff away. It’s frustratingly not a terrible location.

Belial is already sitting down, and chuckles when he sees Lucilius eyeing some of the stains on the floor. “Don’t judge. This hole in the wall has some of the best pasta in the city.”

“I’m more surprised that this is actually a restaurant.”

“I said so, didn’t I? Or were you expecting a private club?”

Lucilius says nothing, and takes a seat. Belial orders for them both, and Lucilius doesn’t complain. The open brick oven rumbles low behind them, humming heat and dim light. The fire grumbles behind Belial, but he doesn’t even notice, fixed smiling onto Lucilius’ face. Lucilius stares impassively back, never one to entertain others.  

Neither of them speak until their food arrives; a bowl of soup and a plate of ravioli for Lucilius, pasta for Belial, and a pitcher of sangria for them both. The waiter yawns, and then leaves them alone. It’s a slow night.

“How did your presentation go? You have such a nice deep voice. Would make even papers and powerpoints a thrill.”

Lucilius ignores him, shaking salt into his soup. He doesn’t have to have actually gone to imagine what it would be like. They’re all the same; he’d attend the function, give his presentation, answer some dull questions, turn down his coworkers’ offer for drinks, and go back to sleep in his hotel room. He’s gone through the cycles too many times to count.

“Did you fix your graphs before you submitted them?”

Lucilius pauses, narrowing his eyes. He looks up, seeing Belial stirring his pasta so that the sauce is even all throughout.

“In that recent paper of yours. One of your graphs said histone acetylation when it was about deacetylation. You caught that one in time, right? Otherwise,” Belial raises his eyebrows as he bites into a piece of bread.

“How many of my other articles did you read?”

“None? 30-page papers weren’t going to ease the tension you left me with on our first night. The _aching_ , it’s been a while since I’ve been stiffed that hard.”

“But you knew my research.”

Belial shoots him a dull look. “How many people do you think share your name out there?”

Lucilius did catch the mistake on his second readthrough, but that wasn’t the point. Most people hear long terminology and their eyes instantly start glazing over. He experienced this firsthand when Lucifer’s fool of a boyfriend made the mistake of politely asking Lucilius about his work. People who would be instantly bored wouldn’t have the eye to catch an error.

“Familiar with these concepts, are you?”

“Didn’t you do your research on me already?” Belial asks.

Lucilius makes a neutral sound in the back of his throat.

Their conversation lapses into silence once more.

“Not too talkative, huh?”

“If you had something important to say, you’d say it. If I had something to respond to, I would.”

“Mm, very efficient.” Belial refills Lucilius’ glass, an orange slice sloshing to the bottom. “I like that.”

“You are pushing me into this.”

“True, true.”

“Since when is a musician a career criminal?”

“Career?” Belial’s laugh is a low rumble. “I don’t think I’m anything like that… I’m still a citizen, you know. But you,” His fork spears a ravioli in Lucilius’ plate, too fast for him to stop. “You’re an exception to the rule.”

“So I’m special now?”

“What kind of rich scientist pulls out a taser first thing? You didn’t call for help, you went right for the guy yourself. You have to admit, there’s some intrigue there. ”

“In other words, I’m not some sheep.”

“I like people with spine. And you’re all ice. You’re saying that you wouldn’t take the chance to go out with a good-looking guy?”

“Sounds like a waste of time.” And of a perfectly good favor, making a trap less perfect for the sake of sentimentality.

”Don’t be like that, Faa-san.”

Lucilius gives him a look that rivals the heat in the oven behind them.

“Don’t like nicknames?”

“They’re pointless.”

“Then Faa-san it is.”

The stranger’s cheeky smile shows he’s not going to change his mind. Lucilius knows there’s no point in fighting that. “At least the food is good, unlike the company.”

“I’m a delight,” Belial hums.

“You’re making a good show of your ego is what you’re doing.”

“Pot, meet kettle. Feeling a little sour that you don’t have anything to hold over me?”

Lucilius’ teeth slice through the ravioli with one chomp. He keeps his expression neutral. “Not yet I don’t.”

Belial smirks at him, canines sharp in the dim light. “You do know how to turn me on.”

 

* * *

 

The kids next door are at it again. How many times can you party in a week, anyway?

He can feel the bass of whatever terrible trap music they’re playing reverberate in his fingers. It’s only a small comfort that the kid with slick-backed hair isn’t having a fistfight in the hallway again. The weekly meeting in the lab went two hours over the allotted time limit, all because people kept bringing up useless questions. He’s exhausted and he doesn’t have time for this.

It would be easy to complain to management that his neighbors are being massive nuisances yet again, but all that would do is earn them another strike. They’re on three strikes already, but then he’d have to wait for the complaint to go through, and for them to pack up their things, and for them to move. That would take at least two weeks, and that’s two weeks’ worth of sleep that he’s not willing to sacrifice.

His phone vibrates. It’s not Lucifer or Lucio— they prefer to call, not text. And his father doesn’t contact him at all.

It’s Belial. ‘ _Dreaming about you tonight_ ,’ followed by three winking kaomojis. He wrinkles his nose in disgust, and tosses his phone onto the other end of the couch. They didn’t exchange phone numbers so Lucilius would be bothered with trivialities.

The music is getting louder. He knocks against the wall, to no avail. He doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.

He looks at his phone, and thinks.

 

* * *

 

Lucilius pushes past Belial when he answers the door.

Belial blinks the sleep out of his eyes. His hair is down, and he’s still in what looks like his sleepwear. “How did you know I’d be home?”

“Your band website says your next performance is Friday night.”

“Mm, you got me.” Belial yawns, scratching his side. He sticks his head out the door, seeing the piles of cardboard boxes in the hallway. “And what’s all that?”

“My belongings.”

“Right, sure.” It takes Belial a moment before his brain catches up to his mouth. “Wait, wait— your what?”

“My belongings. I’m moving in.”

Belial moves his mouth, but no sound comes out.

“How much is monthly rent, bills included?”

Belial gives a figure, and Lucilius hands him a check for half of that.

The movers are coming up the stairs, and Lucilius directs them into the living room. Unpacking can come later, just as long as all his belongings are out of harm’s way.

“Whoa, hang on a bit. You sure are eager, aren’t you? You didn’t want to ask first?”

Lucilius turns on his heel, staring Belial straight in the face. “You mean how you asked to go out with me?”

Belial smiles, daring yet careful. “More like, aren’t you being a little too hasty? If you want to see me up close more often, I don’t mind, but…”

Belial may be taller than him, but Lucilius can kill with his eyes. “I thought you wanted a relationship. Don’t couples move in with each other? Or are you saying you changed your mind?”

He’s torn between annoyance and amusement when Belial bursts out laughing. Belial catches him around the waist, and Lucilius thinks of tearing away, but he’s being held tight. “No way. You and I, we’re stuck together.”


	2. Recommendations of Pleasure

The first thing Belial sees when he wakes up is Lucilius frowning down at him. He’s halfway upright and he looks more displeased than usual. 

“You’re up early,” Belial offers.

“I would be up earlier, except that someone refuses to let go of me.”

Belial nuzzles further into Lucilius’ stomach. “But you’re so comfy.” He’s not a cuddler, but it seems like lately he’s taken to catching Lucilius in his sleep. Honestly, it’s rather cute.

Lucilius disagrees. “I said get off.”

“But you feel nice.”

“And you’re heavy.” Belial’s scalp aches as Lucilius grabs a handful of his hair and pulls. “Release me this instant. I’m not some stuffed doll.”

“You’re too bony to be a plushie— okay, okay, I give.”

All but scrambling out of bed, Lucilius drops to his feet and falls into the motions of his everyday routine. Belial could get up too, but he curls up under the covers and watches.

There’s something mesmerizing about watching Lucilius dress in the morning. Objectively, it really isn’t anything special. Lucilius doesn’t have any specific morning routine beyond restocking the contents of his bag and skipping meals. His clothes are fashionable and fitted, a little on the side of 18th century but modern enough. Since he doesn’t care about what he’s wearing, often grabbing whatever’s closest to him in the closet, he puts a dress shirt on with the same grace he puts on a T-shirt. But watching the careful way his fingers move along the buttons, that’s a blessing in itself.

“Don’t you have to get ready?”

“Ooh, have you finally remembered my schedule?”

Lucilius points dryly at the calendar on the wall with Belial’s schedule written all over it in giant print, and makes his way to the bathroom. What a heartbreaker.

Waking up next to someone, that’s nothing new. Belial’s always early to rise, both from the loose routine his agents have set for him and the need to slip out of strangers’ beds and leave only a mystery behind. 

It’s a little weird having a permanent addition in the apartment. Sure, his bandmates come by to pick up stuff, but they’re transients, even if they’re regulars. Lucilius is out of the house by eight and returns by six. He’s in their bed in the morning and when he’s not pulling all-nighters, he’s in their bed at night. He’s not like the one-off groupies; Belial’s pretty sure Lucilius has never listened to his music, and has no interest in ever doing so. 

The calendar warns a busy day ahead, something reflected in his phone reminders. Can’t dawdle for long, not now that the show’s over.

Toast is enough of a food springboard for them both, and he packs Lucilius’ into a plastic bag. Today’s not one of those days where they can sit and enjoy a leisurely breakfast together, tragic. 

He makes his way over to the reptile enclosure, where his best girl lives. “And good morning to you, Eve.”

Eve is outside her cave today, sunbathing by the miniature pond. She flicks her tongue at him, a greeting. She is such a darling, the best leucistic ball python out there. Her pose is perfect, and he quickly snaps a photo, another one for Instagram. He has a very specific curated image for his social media; plenty of lewd selfies and of course, space for Eve. His fanbase appreciates her beauty and within a few minutes, the hearts are already rolling in.

“Are you going to feed her or just take photos of her?” 

“What’s wrong with both?”

Lucilius scoffs, fixing his collar as he makes his way over. It doesn’t seem like Lucilius is avoiding Eve anymore. As soon as Belial introduced her to him, Lucilius had acted strangely wary for a few days, but that’s all passed now. Now he can do what he’s doing now, patting her head with a finger. She seems to like him too, two cold-blooded creatures finding some mutual respect in each other. 

He snaps a picture of that scene too, but that’s for him, not for social media. 

“She’ll get her food in the evening. Why don’t you feed her?”

Lucilius makes a neutral sound, considering it. He’s never had a pet before, but he’s fallen into the routine of watching Eve silently, waiting to see what she would do next. 

“And when you’re done feeding her, there’s another beast that needs tending to—”

“Belial.”

“It hungers for your touch.”

“Vile. You degenerate.”

“That’s me. All of me.”

Lucilius first treated Belial like he was vermin, but Belial enjoyed that. When Lucilius switched tactics and focused his attention, Belial enjoyed that too. Now they’re back to Lucilius remaining coldly neutral. This isn’t a game he can win. 

He’s not going to actually push the issue, so he watches Lucilius get his stuff together and then leans into him by the doorway. “How about a goodbye kiss?”

The front door slams shut. Ah, rejected.

He checks the clock above the TV. 8:04. He needs to start getting ready too. 

 

* * *

 

Traffic is bumper to bumper today, even if he can just slip his bike through the narrow spaces between cars. He’s not worried; he always leaves early and arrives at least on time. There’s nothing that will build up bad feelings with media people over time more than being constantly late. His bike cruises slick down the avenues, easy-handled even down the narrow side streets. It’s smoother than a car, much less crowded than a train. Just plain black, nothing too standoutish in case anyone passing by decides to get a little curious. 

Today’s double interview day; him with a monthly men’s magazine, and Azrael and Israfel with a local radio station. People like the girls for their aura of innocence despite the band’s lyrics. People like him because he’s everything the lyrics embody. Two interviews, two images, double the profit. Az and Iss are cute anyway, and are good camera fodder. 

Nobody in the band uses their real names; all nicknames, nice and biblical. Belial still likes to twist them up anyway, and Bubs was pretty unhappy when everyone stuck to ‘Bubs’ instead of what he had actually picked out. What can he say? He’s got good taste in nicknames. 

When he parks his bike, he can safely say he didn’t expect the location to be in a massive high-rise. There’s probably a hundred floors in that thing, easy. Some places are really flashy. Security definitely thinks he’s in the wrong place, but eases up once he gives his proof. Sixty floors up, goddamn.

The redheaded secretary at the front desk glances up from her computer when he walks in. She looks even harder when he leans over the marble reception cube, allowing her a nice view of his pecs, and gives his name. Working hard to tear her eyes away, she whispers into her headset, and flashes a pretty smile when she gives him directions. She’s cute, and he pockets the number she slips him on a post-it.

They’re in the back of a studio, and it’s busy, with lighting and wiring all visible from the ceiling, but where he is feels cozy enough. The couch he’s been given isn’t too hard, and there’s plenty of water on the table. He has to wait a bit but not too long; The interviewer is a young lady, nice and polished with her long hair tied back. Long legs, gray pleated skirt stretching to her knees, spike heels. She shakes his hand, all professional, not eyeing him like the secretary. The crew behind her is just to take sound, and just in case, she has a recorder running on her lap. The soundman is quite cute, and Belial shoots him a smile. 

Azazel covers their media, and already forwarded him the questions beforehand. They’re not the usual same ones, at least. He’s good at improv, but it never hurts to know what punches are coming.

“So the band’s last album, _Darkherald_ , all of your songs seem to deal with the darker things in life, usually in the case of wants and desires. Still, you also frame them in a semi-religious context, but it doesn’t seem exactly religious either.”

He knows the routine, and slides right into it. “There’s no difference in the holy and the profane, it’s just a matter of perspective. Sure, there’s some basic laws like ‘don’t steal or murder’. Beyond that, isn’t it all just lifestyle advice? But it’s become so universal, so it’s fun to play around with that a little.”

He can’t say anything too outrageous, because then Bubs would destroy him. 

“Apocalypse: you evoke a lot of sentiment around that, the world ending, and everything going with it, a universal reset as a kind of ideal. Why the push towards that?”

He can answer this with some truth. “Aren’t we all talking about the end of the world every day? We’re trying to avoid it, but so far, doesn’t seem like the world’s headed in a good direction. It’s nice to fantasize about the end of the world on your terms, especially when it might be right nearby.”

“Then there’s your newest single that you released last week, _Something Unpleasant_. There’s a different feeling to it, almost. How did you come up with it?”

“Well, the title says it all, right? Something unpleasant— we’ve all got a little bit of that in our lives, sometimes a lot. There’s a lot of pain that comes from that, but a lot of power too. Still, it’s never something you can put your finger exactly on, right? It’s a little muddled, but that’s the whole idea.”

“Even if it’s muddled, it still feels very powerful.”

“That’s Bubs for you. His philosophy is that every song should be a lead song, that even if they segue into each other, they should stand out. Don’t tell him I said something nice about him though.”

“One of _Darkherald_ ’s tracks was _This One’s To Annoy Beelzebub._ Are you playing up that rivalry? _”_

“Oh don’t worry, Bubs would happily strangle me if he could.”

She laughs a little at that. “In the other track, _Vulgar and Available_ , there’s a much more upbeat feeling to it, even if it’s gloomy. The lyrics don’t reflect that, do they? What brought that about?”

“They sure don’t. We wanted to try something that sounds pleasing, but is pretty dark. You know, nobody wants to talk about things that bother them outside of a daily mask and performance, not the stuff that bothers them deep. Do that and you get teased, especially on social media, even if there’s no way you’re the only impulsive person out there. Putting your embarrassments out into the world is immature and childish, right? There’s no way things are that straightforward.”

“And what do you think about it?”

“Hey, hey, what do _I_ think about it? No way, absolutely not. Give people your truth and they’ll take that as the only answer. I like to let people decide my feelings for themselves.”

“One last one.” She coughs a little. “Your romantic life is fairly well known. Any chances of you settling down?”

Hah, romantic life. It’s all sex, plain and simple. 

She’s clearly not pleased by what’s on the paper in front of her. Guess even high-end journals still have to cater to tabloid questions. He’s fairly certain that Lucilius would saw his head off if he dropped their status without consulting him first. It would send the press to Lucilius’ lab, and nothing gets him more irate than having his schedule and work interrupted. Also, if Belial outs himself as having settled down, he’ll get a lot less potential interest from fans. His libido has to let itself free somehow. “Oh, you know the only one for me is Eve. Follow her on Insta!”

The producer chuckles, used to this routine non-answer. 

“That’s all the questions we have. Any final remarks?”

“Sure thing. Take what you will, draw your own conclusions. That’s the way it is.”

She stops the recording, says a couple things to her crew. As they wrap things up on their end, she thanks him, shakes his hand again. It’s clear that she doesn’t want him, even if her mind’s sharp as a tack, but alright, he can’t get everyone. He winks at the soundman, and the soundman averts his gaze. 

Twenty minutes later, they’re in one of the utility closets, where there are no cameras and no passerby. He creeps his hand into the soundman’s boxers, and he flushes, guilt battling with arousal. Oh that’s sweet, he loves that conflict, the mix between what should be right and wrong, desire winning out regardless. The soundman palms him through his pants, desperate and feverish, faster, anywhere and all over. Belial lets him fall. 

They both stop by the water cooler when they’re done, rehydrating in silence.

“Maybe I’ll see you again?” the soundman asks, mildly hopeful. 

“Sure,” he says, and sure means never.

As soon as he leaves the studio, his phone starts ringing. Just when he lit his cig, too. “It went really well!” Peppy and chipper, Az. 

“I think we did alright,” comes more tempered, Iss. “I thought I was going to faint when we went live.”

“I was sooo nervous, I thought my heart was going to explode!”

He chuckles. “Good job, girls. Avatar’s around?”

“He’s getting coffee right now, there’s a big line. But everyone was nice to him too.”

Their giant hulk of a drummer is a presence in person, but he’s no good for voice-only interviews. He’s just fine on video, but with his vocal cords as messed up as they are, he’ll need one of the band members to interpret for him for a radio show. Az and Iss are more than happy to do that for him, even if they’ll probably make his thoughts a lot brighter than they actually are. In return, Avatar’s presence is enough to deter anyone from thinking that it might be okay to play games with two sweet girls.

“Bubs with you three today?”

“No, he said contact him in emergencies only.” 

Which means unfiltered, Bubs probably told them all to fuck off. Classic Bubs. 

“How did your end go?” Iss asks.

“Oh, just fine. You girls enjoy your coffee break.”

He needs to get some sustenance on his own. Olivia’s a nice agent, dedicated to her cause, and she’s pretty strict about making sure they all eat three meals a day and exercise. Not three instant noodle packs a day, either. Sex, drugs, and rock n’roll is dead, and self care reigns supreme.

Well, most of it. He could always call that cute receptionist later. 

 

* * *

 

When he gets back, Lucilius is home early, and snarling into a phone.

“I told you, I’m not coming.”

A pause, as the person on the other line whispers something useless.

“You do this every month. I’m going to block you as soon as I hang up.” Something about the way he speaks makes Belial think he’s said this many times before. 

Belial would normally come in and offer something lewd, but he can tell Lucilius isn’t in the mood for jokes. He quietly sidles onto the couch, watching Lucilius pace around the room. 

“If that’s all you have to say, then—” Lucilius’ eyes meet his, and he goes quiet, giving the other person enough of an opportunity to say their piece. He’s not sure what Lucilius is thinking, but there’s a glint in his eyes, ice in the depths of the sea. “Fine. Alright. But I want steak.”

Before the other person can respond, Lucilius hangs up.

“Fun phone call, darling?”

Lucilius rolls his eyes. He hates pet names, and Belial knows it. Belial also hates pet names, but he just loves pushing Lucilius’ buttons.

“It sounded like fun.”

“Fun to him, maybe.” Lucilius scoffs, plopping onto the couch. “My brother likes to hear the sound of his own voice.”

“You don’t talk much about your brother.”

Lucilius ignores him. “We have monthly family dinners. He’s been trying to get me to come to them for the last few years. The holidays are intolerable enough.”

“Change of heart, then? It sounded like you agreed.”

“You’re coming with me.”

Some saliva goes down the wrong passage and Belial starts choking. “Whoa, meeting the family already? That’s moving kinda fast, isn’t it?”

“Is it? A few months is plenty to break the news.”

“Well, yeah. Still, that’s so serious.” Belial doesn’t do relationships, his routine is all one night stands. He’s a no-commitment, go-with-the-flow, all hedonism all the way. He asked Lucilius to be his on impulse, and sure, what they have going now is fine, but meeting the family? That’s too real. 

“But isn’t this what you wanted?” Lucilius slides on over to him, and it’s anything but friendly. There’s a cool finger on his neck, nail jutting against the curve of his windpipe. “I thought you wanted to go out with me. Did you really think that you could do that without meeting my family at least once, _darling_?” He says the last word like a threat, and Belial has to admit, it’s kind of hot. 

There’s no dissuading Lucilius once he puts his mind to something, Belial knows that much. “Ookay, you got me. So what’s your family like? Should I break out my fancy clothes?” That’s a hypothetical. He definitely doesn’t have anything in his closet to impress Lucilius’ family. Anything that’s nice by his standards would be rags to them. 

Lucilius moves away, returning to being bored. “Wear what you usually wear. Be yourself.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Bubs. The show on the 5th? Let’s call in a rain check.”

He hears a long inhale on the other line. “And why is that?”

“I,” Belial hums, “am going to my boyfriend’s house.”

“We’re not canceling a show just so you could fuck some groupie.”

“Not a cancelation, just a change of date. And he’s not a groupie, okay? I’m going serious.”

Belial listens to two whole minutes of hysterical laughter on the other end. When it finally dies down moderately, “Alright, what are you actually doing?” 

“It’s not that funny,” he says, feigning hurt. “I told you, I have a man now. And I’m going to be visiting him.”

“Sure. I still doubt that someone is willing to stand you for a lengthy period of time.”

“You do, don’t you?”

“Because I’m contractually obligated to, yes.”

“Just make it happen, okay? Thanks!” He hangs up before he can get a reply.

 

* * *

 

“Do you think this is better?” Belial holds up a black jacket with a single button, purple velvet wisps swirling across the front. “Or this one?” In his other hand, he puts forward a gray jacket with a black floral embroidery gone wild down its sides. 

Lucilius glances up from his work, sees that Belial’s problem is not worth his time, and returns to it. “I told you, it doesn’t matter what you wear.”

“Maybe not to your family, but it matters to me. I want to look _hot._ ”

“Then why are you asking my opinion on this? Do you not have your own sense of aesthetics?”

“Okay, better question. Do you think I should walk around with a low cut shirt for cleavage, or tight pants to show off my ass?”

Lucilius looks very, very tired. 

“Hm, you’re right. Maybe both is good.”

It’s the first time anyone has ever offered that he meet their family— he’s met Az and Iss’ best friends, a cute young lesbian couple, but that was the closest he’s got. His sexual partners never last longer than two days, and that’s no time for things to start getting real. Realistically speaking, he’s not going to impress, so he might as well impress himself. 

Once he’s done ruminating over another outfit, he glances back at Lucilius, hard at work as always. “Can’t you do your grant writing in the lab?”

“I have a perfectly fine stretch of time to do so right now.”

Belial sighs, like he hasn’t heard that a thousand times already. He makes his way over to the kitchen table, drapes his arms down Lucilius’ chest, parking his chin atop his head. Just like this, Lucilius smells faintly of disinfectant. 

Lucilius shakes him off. “You’re annoying me.”

“Want a massage?”

Lucilius’ lips curl. Five seconds of silence follows. 

“Just your shoulders.” When Lucilius gets that look in his eyes, Belial’s never sure if he’s looking at him or through him. Either way it’s a delight, and his heart thumps in his groin, but he did make a promise. 

Lucilius sighs, puts down his pen. “If your hands go anywhere else, you’ll regret it.”

“Ookay.”

Lucilius’ trapezius is rock-hard, no surprise with his routine of going to work to slouch over his desktop to coming home and slouching over papers. Belial’s surprised it hasn’t locked into place. Even if it had, his fingers are magic, easing the tension free little by little. It’s no easy feat. Lucilius’ neck is thin and pretty, and when Belial works on his left shoulder, sometimes his hair brushes against Belial’s knuckles. Even the tiny strands of hair on his neck are pure white, dots of light on soft skin. Belial first thought his white hair was dye, but it’s all natural, from his eyelashes to the faint hair along his fingers. The overhead light sparks his hair into a halo, a shimmer on a crest of newly hardened ice. Belial isn’t sure if he wants to behold it or trample all over it.

Against his pale skin is a spot of color, not that much darker but distinctly so, a jagged scar across the back of Lucilius’ neck. Haunting and beautiful. He keeps his fingers on Lucilius’ trapezius but his thumbs wander, tracing where the skin starts to rumple. Lucilius hisses and slaps his hands away, but Belial laughs and returns to his work.

Lucilius doesn’t talk about his past. That’s fine, because Belial doesn’t give him anything, either. 

“Feel better?” he asks, once he feels that the muscles have softened sufficiently.

“Mm.” Lucilius cricks his neck, moving a lot more fluidly than he usually does. 

Belial swoops down and gives Lucilius a kiss, right atop his scar. Lucilius reacts instantly, but Belial has already darted out of reach. “Is that your sensitive spot? I’ll keep that in mind.”

Lucilius rivets him, eyes promising violence.

“It’s pretty, you know?”

Lucilius’ expression changes from anger to incredulity.

“I mean it.” Belial takes a step forward, close enough that Lucilius could catch him with his nails. When nothing happens, he moves closer. Lucilius watches him, a predator still deciding. “It stands out, but it’s nice.”

“How like you to fetishize injuries.”

“I can fetishize anything. But this isn’t a snuff film, not unless you want it to be.” A deep sigh hits him, and Belial moves closer. He’s back to where he started. “There’s only one person who looks the way you do. That there on your neck makes you all the more unique.”

Lucilius’ expression morphs into a sneer. “Is that what you think?”

“I know it.”

Lucilius scoffs, and returns to his work. Belial continues playing his fingers along the slope of Lucilius’ neck regardless. 

 

* * *

 

After a very long deliberation, Belial has chosen the black and velvet jacket and skintight leather pants, with some freshly shined flats. He’s kept the single button secured, but it’s barely keeping his cleavage in place. It’s his finest outfit to disappoint some parents.

Lucilius looks at him once and then ignores him. Nailed it.

He sees Lucilius start to call a car, and quickly grabs his phone. “Hey, no need to do that.”

“It’s an hour drive, 45 with good traffic. How are we going to get there?”

“I’ve got a ride.”

“Since when do you have a car?”

“Not the car.”

Lucilius doesn’t seem exactly pleased when Belial pulls the tarp off his motorcycle. “Where’s the side-car?”

“What’s a side-car?” Belial flashes Lucilius a grin and chucks a spare helmet at him. “Hop on the back, it’s big enough for two.”

Lucilius sits awkwardly, leaning back like he’s feeling for handlebars. “And what’s keeping me from flying off?”

“Me, naturally. Just wrap your hands around my midsection and hold tight— that’s a little too loose, Faa-san, you’ll be bruised on the pavement if you’re that weak. Grip nice and firmly, just imagine how you’d hold onto me if you were on your back and I was giving you the time of your life— ow, ow, nails, nails, nails.”

“Drive. I know the way.”

“You don’t have your own ride, but you know the way?”

Lucilius tilts his head to give him that bored look, like he’s tired of having to explain himself.

Well, if they get lost, Belial has GPS on his phone, and he’ll have Lucilius clinging to him for an even longer period of time. Can’t argue about that.

Belial would never call himself a reckless driver, even if he always goes 15 over the speed limit. There’s no fun without a hint of danger, but he knocks it down to 10 over now that he has a passenger. Lucilius can complain all he wants, but his ride cruises smooth. This is his own, his first purchase once he got free, all his from the tires down to the paint. Every time they need to turn, Lucilius tugs at his jacket. Which side he pulls is enough of a map on his own, and Belial obeys.

The towns they pass through really aren’t much; restaurants, taverns, small thrift stores. Those streets have some life, not like when they take the long roads into the residential areas. All large houses lined up along the roads, too big for their own good and costing a fortune each. Some of them don’t even have tended gardens, and you’re going to have all that and not even take care of your place? He’ll never understand some lifestyles.

They turn into a roundabout encircling a large stone fountain, a spiked dragon statue at its peak, its tail curling down to the base. There’s a tall gate cutting the road off, and they have to slow before a security box. Lucilius doesn’t seem fazed, giving his name to the guard inside and waiting until they’re waved through. 

“Of course you live in a gated community,” Belial remarks. Rich people and their posturing. He’s surprised they haven’t passed a country club yet. 

“Community?”

“Isn’t that where we are? Tropical gardens, all that nonsense?”

“It’s not a community. Just father’s house.”

Belial nearly crashes the bike. 

When Belial first catches sight of the house, there’s no way he can’t unsee it. It’s massive, more like a mansion he’s seen in movies than anywhere real people might live. It’s private despite its size, set away from the road on a piece of ground real estate brokers could only dream of. It’s right by the waterfront too, and as he comes up the road, he spots a speedboat sleeping by a tiny dock. Belial angles his bike towards a long building that Lucilius says is their garage, and as the door comes up, he can’t help but whistle. He was expecting maybe twenty cars, but there’s only three, all nice and taken care of. The rest of the garage is dedicated to vehicles for the year round: snowmobiles, a speedboat, RVs. 

Before Belial can get his bearings, Lucilius is already off the bike, smoothing his hair down from helmet frizz. He gestures to follow, and Belial does, all up the slate path leading to a mahogany door. As for the main building, he doesn’t see any of the usual trappings; gilded doors, iron gates, obscene stained glass. Whoever’s inside has class, and has been in class for a long, long time. Lucilius lets the iron knocker hit once, and a young woman answers the door. She’s dressed modestly, clearly some kind of household worker. She’s in pants with pockets deep enough to hold a pad and a brush; practical, no signs of fetishy. 

“Tell Father I’m here,” Lucilius says, short and indifferent.

The woman nods, about to turn when Lucilius’ doppelganger comes into the foyer. Belial looks from the doppelganger to Lucilius and back to the doppelganger and goddamn, their faces are exactly the same. Maybe Lucilius has harder eyes and significantly darker circles, but that’s it. The doppelganger’s got a head of height on Lucilius and is dressed preppy, from his button-down cashmere sweater to his white fitted pants. Then the doppelganger smiles, gentle and serene, the kind of smile that Lucilius would smile only when he was dead. “You came,” he says with a voice that makes you want to sink in and listen. 

“Here I am.”

“It’s been too long.”

Lucilius snorts, but doesn’t object. 

Then the doppelganger looks to Belial. “And this is…”

“Belial. He’s my guest for the day.”

The doppelganger steps towards Belial, extending a hand. “I’m Lucifer. Nice to meet you.”

What kind of name was Lucifer? Belial takes the handshake, and it’s firm but unyielding. Not too aggressive, just strong enough. “Older brother?”

Lucifer chuckles. “No, I’m the youngest. The oldest is…”

There’s a third one now, coming down the staircase. “You actually showed up!” he says, bright and cheerful. He wraps up Lucilius in a hug, knocking his chin into Lucilius’ forehead. Lucilius responds by kicking his clone in the shin until he’s freed.

Holy damn. Triplets. Or clones, who knows what rich people are up to nowadays.

“Steak?”

The clone looks at Lucilius, patient but weary. “Yes. And you came.”

“I did.” Lucilius looks around, like he’s waiting for something. “Where are the twins?”

“It’s their day off. They were supposed to go to some sort of concert, but it was canceled last minute. They’re sulking.”

“Right.”

The newest addition is eyeing him openly, not exactly suspicious but far too engaging to be cursory. “A guest?”

Lucilius jabs his thumb at the new face. “That’s Lucio, the eldest. Professional nuisance.”

“I wish you’d be a little more polite,” Lucio sighs. “And your friend is?”

“Belial, my boyfriend.”

“Your… boyfriend.” Lucio stares at him somewhere between curious and incredulous. He’s uncomfortably lost for words, but keeps up that angelic front. “That’s different. Go grab some drinks, San-chan just finished setting them out.”

Well, that went terribly. Belial supposes he shouldn’t have expected much, even at his best. Lucilius watches Lucio’s retreating back, shadows curled under his eyes— and Belial knows the game. 

“Drinks,” Lucilius starts out, cutting away. Belial follows; if he stays by himself, this massive house might swallow him up. 

“Triplets, huh?” Belial raises his eyebrows. “Are your brothers single?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve fucked twins before, but triplets? Albino triplets? That’s a game I haven’t played yet.”

Lucilius looks at him like he’s a spot of black mold. “Lucifer is taken. Lucio is single because he’s too stupid to get a partner.”

Belial counts on his fingers. “Lucio, Lucifer, Lucilius— your mom’s not too creative, huh?”

“Father named us.”

“To be a blast at church, I’m sure.”

Lucilius’ lips quirk in a hint of a smile. “Mother left after we were born. She was very devout, apparently. Father named us to spite her.”

“That’s _petty_.” Belial can appreciate that.

There’s a table filled corner to corner with drinks, parked right near a dead fireplace. Lucilius idly pours himself some vodka and drops in a slice of lime. Belial rummages through the forest of bottles and finds some Irish cream. He hasn’t had this in years, nostalgia trip.

Lucilius is already walking away. “Whoa, where are you going?”

“Seeing if Lucio actually made steak. He better not have lied to me.”

“And what about me?”

“Figure it out. If you get lost, drag yourself back here.”

It really is a huge place, better suited to be a small museum than a place anyone can comfortably live in. The rooms are more empty than full, furnished but looking more like interior design showrooms. As unnerving as they are, the insides are just as nice as he expected. All slick and modern, but still tasteful, from the deep padded carpet to polished wooden furniture. 

He gets bored of exploring, so he makes his way back to the room with all the drinks, and stops short by the door. Lucilius is back there, but he’s with Lucio— and the temperature in that room is ten degrees below what the thermostat says.

“Stop trying. Don’t you know that repetition is useless?”

Lucio keeps a calm smile. “The position’s always open for you. I’ve always wanted you to work with us.”

“Who cares what you want? I don’t remember wanting you to keep breathing, but you’re still doing it.”

“But…”

“Enough,” Lucilius says, chopping the conversation. “I’m not joining Paradise. I’m _never_ joining Paradise. If you want to play family in your mind, then do it away from me. I’m staying with my lab, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Belial backtracks, keeping his footsteps soft. Maybe exploring isn’t so bad. 

The new room he finds looks something vaguely like a living room. Against the side of the wall is an expensive-looking shelf, stacked with thick books, bookended by two statues. Belial thumbs across the covers— mostly finance, with a couple of fantasy titles. A stack of magazines is tidied up on one of the tables; lifestyle, sports catalogues, real estate. An exercise monthly has some post-its inside, marking some of the hot positions for yoga.

A polished grand piano sits by the fireplace. He taps a key, letting the sound drone across the room. Lucilius has long, pretty fingers that would work magic on a piano. He almost starts to imagine Lucilius’ fingers along other areas before he remembers that he has no idea where the bathroom is, or if it’s even anywhere near this room. This house is _massive_. 

“Making yourself comfortable?” If suddenly intruding on someone made Lucio feel hesitant, it’s not apparent. 

Belial keeps his eyes on Lucio, keeping his posture inviting enough but his mind sharp. “Sure thing. Pretty big house though, too big.”

Everything about Lucio is a direct contradiction from Lucilius: long flowing androgynous clothes, gold bangles on his wrists, long hair tied back in a neat braid, manicured nails, easy smile. He can’t ever imagine Lucilius growing his hair out that long; he’d complain about it being a nuisance. Where Lucilius is all efficiency, Lucio is all image. He hovers around Belial for some time before making contact, where Lucilius would cut through to him directly.

“So you’ve been dating my brother?”

“Yeah, he’s a doll.”

“Don’t let him hear that.”

“No way, I like living. Can’t say the same for you.” Belial swipes some of the dip in Lucio’s plate with his finger, making a show of licking it off. “Trouble in paradise?”

“You know Lucilius is a… little stubborn. He’s always been that way. I wish he’d tell me what he’s been up to.”

“Must be kind of frustrating for you, no? So does Mr. Bigshot have a way to ease the day’s troubles? All that yoga must make you really soft and pliable. You must bend really nicely.”

Lucio quirks an eyebrow. “You’re dating Lucilius and you’re flirting with me?”

“What can I say? Your demigod fashion sense is really a turn-on. I know how bored you rich kids get when there’s no consequences. I’m sure Faa-san wouldn’t mind three instead of two.”

Lucio mouths around nothing.

Lucilius enters the room, takes one look at Lucio, and curls his lip. Lucio all but waves him over, making persistent eye contact until Lucilius finally comes over. “Your… boyfriend. You do know he’s being forward with me.”

“He does that.” Lucilius pops a cube of cheese into his mouth, unimpressed. “He’s like a dog in heat.”

“Woof.” Belial shoots a grin at Lucio. 

“And this is the person you chose as your partner?”

Lucilius keeps his stare on his brother’s face. “Indeed.”

Belial leans his arm on Lucio’s shoulder, twisting Lucio’s braid around his finger. “Changed your mind?” 

Lucio steps back, breaking free of the trap between the two of them. “I’ll check on San-chan in the kitchen. If you need me, I’ll be at the grill.” he pushes out, before making a hasty exit. 

Belial waits until he hears Lucio’s footsteps fade down the hall. “You sure love your brother, don’t you?”

“To death.”

Belial sighs happily as his pulse shakes his brain. There’s nothing more lovely than a sharpened blade, and Lucilius is the deadliest one there is. He tries to kiss that blade, only to get a hand on his face, pushing him back. That doesn’t stop him from landing one in the center of Lucilius’ palm, and even if that makes his grip turn harsh, it was worth it.

A rapping at the door as someone peeks their head in. “Oh, there you are.” It’s Lucifer. Looking to Lucilius, he says, “Father wants to see you.”

“Does he now.” Every word from Lucilius’ mouth is coated in venom. “Where is he?”

“In his study.”

“Can’t even come downstairs to speak his holy words, hm?” Lucilius leaves his plate on the low table, trudging out of the room. Lucifer watches him go, a little sadly, but then he turns to Belial. “Do you play?” 

Belial’s been leaning on the piano, his hand absently by the keys. “Nah, I’m more of a vocals kind of guy.”

“You’re a musician?”

Lucilius really told his family absolutely nothing, huh. “You bet, got a band and everything. We’re more of the punk rock scene.”

“I had no idea my brother liked rock music…” Lucifer muses, bewildered.

“Hey, it’s hard work but good money. Faa-san wouldn’t know though.”

“You’re dating him but he doesn’t listen to your music? That does sound like him…”

“And you? What do you do?”

“I’m the president for an international advocacy group. We’re non-profit focusing on sustainability.”

Belial sips his drink, long and hard. He listens to Lucifer go on about his company’s mission, clean water, clean air, better environment for a better society. He’s probably pocketing half the funds that come in, all while keeping up that angelic front. A typical story, putting on a good face while the public cheers them on. The public donates what spare change they have, pat themselves on the back, and return to their lives so sure they did something for the greater good. Their money has to do something right, after all. Idiots.

“How giving. You really think you can help anyone like that?”

Lucifer blinks, confused. “When dealing with corporations and companies, heartfelt statements don’t always work, but lawsuits do.”

“True, better to hurt their profits.” And their reputation. “You really care for this stuff?”

“It’s more shocking to hear that people don’t. We’re heading in a bad direction, and lifestyle changes won’t help the larger problem.”

“You’re rich, though. Why not just build a bunker like everyone else is probably doing?”

“That won’t solve anything. And I’m not content to stand by and do nothing.” His words are as clear as his eyes, no bullshit there. It’s so pure it almost makes Belial sick. 

“And you really think you’re saving everyone?”

“Not saving, no. But if I can help, I can. All our staff feel the same.”

“All? If you trust the people doing work for you to buy into it. But $20 at the top ends up as $1 on the bottom. How are you sure all the money you make actually goes to where it needs to be? Anyone can file a false report. Money can get lost so easily. Because you’re trying to do good, people won’t ever think something will go wrong.”

Lucifer stares at him for a long, quiet moment. Then his eyes widen a bit, shining and abyssal, and Belial knows that look— he’s seen it on Lucilius many times before, when Lucilius finally wraps his fingers around an answer that’s been evading him. Lucifer’s is a lot less malicious, but it still makes Belial shiver. “You don’t think very highly of charity work, do you?”

“I think it’s all a scam. One good person at the top doesn’t mean the roots aren’t rotten. People who don't know hardship wouldn’t know how to help anyone. Everyone knows guys like you do the charity thing to make yourselves feel better for being masters of the universe. Gotta drain that guilt somehow.”

He expects a sneer and some condescension, about how he’s too cruel to play into lies, but on Lucifer’s face is a hint of a smile. “No wonder you and my brother get along,” he says, without a trace of sarcasm. 

A tapping on the hardwood floor comes closer. “Lucifer! Dinner should be ready soon, and I brought you some—” A young man pauses in the doorway as soon as he realizes Lucifer isn’t alone. He approaches them cautiously, watching Belial like he expects him to turn into a monster. 

“Thank you.” Lucifer takes the plate of hors d'oeuvres from the young man with a smile that could stop hearts. It looks like it nearly does.

“And who’s this?” Belial asks. “One of your interns?”

The young man bristles, but Lucifer remains unmoved. “No, not at all. Belial, this is my boyfriend, Sandalphon. Sandalphon, Belial.”

Sandalphon puts his hands deep in the pockets of his sweater. “Nice to meet you,” he mumbles. 

Did he accidentally enter bible country or something? “Into younger men, Lucifer?”

Sandalphon’s frown is visible even beneath his wavy hair. “I’m not _that_ much younger.”

“The babyface could’ve fooled me.” Sandalphon is different— definitely not at Lucifer’s level. He’s dressed nice enough to be passable, but the black on his shoes is fading, pleather peeling where the sole meets fabric. There’s a dark stain on his right cuff, with the zipper on his sweater slightly bent. “So, Sandy, what do you do? In the charity business too?”

At that, Sandalphon falters, stretching out his moment to answer, looking away from Belial’s eyes. 

“Sandalphon is a barista at the cafe I often go to.”

Belial raises his eyebrows. Alright, he wasn’t expecting that. 

“The office gets busy sometimes, so I like to take my work elsewhere. Sandalphon was a familiar face, and he was very charming. We’ve been dating for about a year now.” 

Lucifer sounds delighted. He’s serious. But Sandalphon, he’s staring at the floor, elbows close to his sides— Belial can work with this.

“I’ll go check on Lucilius. I hope you two get along.” From how earnest he sounds, he really believes it. 

Sandalphon doesn’t say anything when Lucifer leaves the room, only glancing at Belial cautiously from the corners of his eyes. 

“Lucifer’s cute, isn’t he? You sure snagged a good one.”

“He’s the best,” Sandalphon responds, fast and defensive.

“So what did you do to get the best to date you? Serve him some coffee? Serve him afterward?”

Sandalphon narrows his eyes, but Belial sees the prickle that runs across his shoulders. “And who are you? Did you get lost and end up here by accident?”

“Nobody told you? I’m Lucilius’ man.”

“Lucilius?” Sandalphon looks at him like he’s an alien sporting a human meatsuit. “Since when does he care about dating anyone?”

“Since me.”

“And you must be outstanding, I bet.”

“I blew his mind.” He’s never forgetting the look Lucilius gave him when he first dealt his threat, oh, he could live off that memory for years. 

“If someone like him is dating you, I can only imagine how rotten you might be.”

Little Sandy has fangs. It’s no fun if they don’t struggle a little.

“How we met is a daring story, but enough of that. How did you manage to get into Lucifer’s lap? A nice, rich, giving charity man? Perfect to be your sugar daddy, isn’t he? Are you giving him a lot in exchange for all the toys that he’s buying you?”

Sandalphon is pink to his ears, hands out of his pockets now, seething. “I— we’re not— we haven’t—”

“You haven’t? Oh, Sandy.” He hums deep in the back of his throat. “You’re cute, aren’t you? Kind of stiff—” Sandalphon flinches when Belial runs a finger along the outside of his thigh. “Oh, a virgin?” When Sandalphon knocks him away, Belial knows he’s right. “Guess Lucifer likes them innocent and pure?”

Sandalphon just might erupt, rage flashing red behind his eyes, and Belial loves that fire. There’s nothing more fun than a controlled flame. Then Sandalphon simmers down, looks Belial right in the face. The fist in his stomach comes too fast for Belial to block it.

He doubles over, laughing as soon as he finds his breath. Sandalphon used his knuckles, not the flat of his hand, this kid knows how to make things hurt. “Feisty too!”

“I’m not listening to what a fake bad boy has to spit at me.”

“Fake? This is 100% the genuine article.” He slings an arm around Sandalphon’s waist, pinning the two of them together. “And I’ve got plenty of experience too. You need all the tips you can for when you finally bag Lucifer, don’t you? Or who knows what mistakes you’ll make?”

“And a lot of good that is probably doing you, if you’re with someone as frigid as Lucilius.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Sandalphon? Belial?” It’s Lucifer, peeking back into the room. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Did you hear that?” Sandalphon pinches Belial’s hand until the skin turns white. His voice slips low and dangerous as he pries himself out of Belial’s hold. “Dinner’s ready.”

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t know the way to the dining room so he has no choice but to follow Sandalphon, much to the latter’s displeasure. He doesn’t even try hiding it. Everyone is too polite in this house, it’s so nice to have someone with some spine.

The dining room is close enough to the front door, just in case he needs to make a quick exit. Belial inhales sharply. It’s been easy enough dealing with everyone individually, surely he can deal with everyone at once. There’s still Lucilius’ mysterious father, but that shouldn’t be too bad, probably.

There isn’t a gaudy chandelier in the dining room, thankfully. It looks like any other room in the house, the entire room devoted to housing the massive table that could easily fit twenty people. There’s only eight chairs visible, with one at the head of the table, probably for father dearest. Lucilius is already sitting as far away from the head as possible, cracking open a collection of hazelnuts and walnuts. Lucifer is sitting across from his brother, finishing up a conversation that Belial came in too late to pick up on. There doesn’t seem to be any assigned seating, so he figures he’ll sit by Lucilius. He’s about to make his way over when the thud of a door slamming shut startles him.

He hears them before he sees them; a boy and a girl complaining to each other, neither much older than Sandalphon could be. Their hair is still wet, and the boy slings a towel around his shoulders as the distinct sound of the girl’s flip-flops slap on the wooden floors. They’re still moderately in their swimsuits, shirts pulled over them with water seeping through, completely unfitting this opulent house. “We’re back,” the girl calls, combing back her short blonde hair with her fingers. “And we didn’t crash the boat!”

“Had fun?” Sandalphon makes his way up to them, and his voice is still rough but it’s more gentle, familiar. 

“Went around the lake a couple of times,” The boy hands his towel to the girl so she can dry her hair some more. “Needed that adrenaline to get rid of the sorrow.”

“It’s a concert,” Sandalphon sighs.

“A concert that got canceled. Rescheduled. Same difference.”

“Wait. Gran, look.” The girl tugs on the boy’s arm, and they both freeze, staring at Belial. “Oh my god.”

They zoom over to him, nearly barreling him over. 

The boy marvels up at him. “Wait, it is you. Goddamn. Wow.”

“We know who you are,” the girl says, smiling.

Belial switches instantly into crowd-pleaser mode, fake smile and all, keeping his heart from leaping into a panic. “Fans of mine? I’m honored.”

“Grab them!” At that, the girl sprints out of the dining room and up the stairs, her footsteps thudding away. 

“Do you know this guy?” Sandalphon cautiously asks. 

“Do we? This is the lead singer of Body On Body Parade!” At Sandalphon’s blank look, the boy sighs. “Listen to the playlists we send you!”

The thundering comes closer and the girl all but leaps down the stairs, screeching to a halt in front of Belial, two CDs and a marker in her hand. “Please sign these for us!”

“Anything for my fans. And you’re...”

“Gran.” He points to the girl. “That’s my sister, Djeeta.”

“We’re Lucio’s assistants.”

“That’s nice,” Belial says, drawing his signature with ease. “What do you assist with?”

“Everything. We can do anything.”

“They keep my brother from choking on his own saliva,” Lucilius clarifies. 

“Wow, you actually showed up.” Djeeta dryly says, before turning back to Belial. “So you’re here to perform? Lucio finally took our advice to have some music during these things, at last.”

Gran rubs his chin, nodding sagely. “No wonder you canceled, you were here! I see, I see.”

He’s getting sensory overload from the two of them talking at once. It’s nothing he isn’t used to, not when fans shatter his eardrums as soon as he leaves a concert venue, but they sure are excited. “I’m here, but I’m not performing. I’m with him.”

They follow Belial’s glance to Lucilius, and back again. They both turn their heads, owl-staring at Lucilius, who ignores them until he can’t manage anymore. Gran points at Lucilius, earning him a frown. “Him. Not the guy across from him?”

“Better not be,” Sandalphon grumbles.

“No, not Lucifer. Me and Faa-san, we’re an item.”

“ _Faa-san_?” The twins shout in unison.

“Don’t you two need to change?” Lucilius snaps at them.

Djeeta waves him off. “This is important. This is a miracle.”

“Or a curse. Damnit, you won.” Gran rummages through his shoulder bag and hands Djeeta three bills. She stuffs them in her pocket, fully smug. 

Lucilius is unimpressed. “A curse?”

“When have you ever acted like you care about other people?”

Lucilius scoffs, assenting. 

The twins sit closer to the head of the table, but Belial can still see the sparkles in their eyes as they stare at him and Lucilius, fascinated. At the very least, Lucilius seems to tolerate them, not something he extends towards Lucio and the giant platter of grilled vegetables that he’s touting. 

“Ow, hot hot hot—” He’s wearing oven mitts, but they’re not very thick. He practically dumps the platter onto the table, nearly knocking over one of the candelabras. “Lucifer, can you grab the cornbread and steak from the kitchen?”

“I’ll help—“ Sandalphon starts, but Lucio shakes his head. 

“You’ve done plenty. Sit and relax! Father should be coming down shortly.”

“His majesty graces us with his presence,” Lucilius sneers, cracking open another hazelnut. 

As sour as Lucilius is, even he perks up a fraction when Lucifer delivers the promised steak. All the food on the table looks delicious, and Belial has to stop himself from serving himself too much. He’s about to start when he suddenly realizes that someone new had entered the room, someone he hadn’t seen before.  

Belial’s never known a lot about Mr. Bahamut— heard his name, sure, who hadn’t?— but all big name people were just names. He’s never looked into what the rich look like, only that they exist somewhere out there, doing rich people things. Bahamut looks somewhere between forty and eighty, but Belial could stare all day long and never come up with a precise number. Lucifer and Lucio clearly got their height from their father, a tall brunette with flairs of silver in his hair. He’s not in a suit, but the button-down shirt and corduroy pants costs more than a suit.

Bending low to Lucilius’ ear, Belial whispers, “Your dad’s a dilf.”

Lucilius glares at him, not harsh enough to signify that he knows what the term is, but strong enough that he knows it’s inappropriate. 

Lucio stumbles in after his father, dragging a large standing bowl filled with salad. Guess the staff is only for cleaning, not for the kitchen. “Father, there you are! Just in time.”

Bahamut regards them all with a nod of his head, and takes a seat. He pours himself a glass of wine, and takes a sip. Belial feels a shiver when Bahamut looks at him. There’s a pleasant smile on his face, but his eyes are cold. “And who’s our guest?”

Lucilius opens his mouth to start, but Gran blurts out, “Belial’s the lead singer for a band! His stuff is really good, Mr. Bahamut!”

“A musician. You’re broadening your horizons.”

Lucilius frowns. “No objections?”

“Is there a reason I should?”

Crossing his arms, Lucilius clicks his tongue.

Lucio hustles around the table, serving the salad. It looks pretty good, dressing already soaked into the many greens, cranberries and shredded goat cheese mixed in. Whatever this dressing is, it’s pretty good. The steak is also grilled to perfection. Lucilius may not like his brother, but he sure can cook. 

The way they all talk— about recent happenings, funny moments, future plans— that’s probably just blowing smoke to keep the table from going dead silent. Still, there’s no questioning that even someone removed from the inner blood circle like Sandalphon is still talking, acting closer than just politeness. This is probably what a family dinner is supposed to look like. 

Gran turns to him, and Belial knows it’s now his turn to join the discussion. “When did you meet? How did you meet— doesn’t Lucilius go straight home after work? Does he listen to your music?”

“He tased me in an alleyway. It was love at first sight.”

“That is… quite the dynamic meeting,” Lucifer says, but from how both the twins look at Belial, he knows they’ve figured out it’s not an exaggeration.

“It’s a relationship,” Lucilius offers. 

“It’s fantastic,” Belial sighs dramatically. “Faa-san really has his smarts. Beauty and brains. He always has something new to say every day. And he’s amazing in bed.”

Lucio chokes on his salad. Sandalphon starts coughing into his glass. Lucifer blinks, like the words are still catching up to him. The twins gape at him. A sharp pain erupts in Belial’s left foot where Lucilius slammed his heel down, but Belial is enjoying himself way too much to be bothered by it. 

“I see,” Bahamut nods, deep in thought. “Quite a surprise.”

Lucilius takes a long, deep breath. “Yes. I suppose so.” 

“Is… is that true?” Lucifer asks, pensive.

“Yes,” replies Lucilius, dead-toned. “I have an active sex life.”

Lucifer lets out a soft gasp. Not exactly the reaction he was going for, but it seems that Lucifer reacts the opposite of how he’s supposed to. 

“Interesting.” Bahamut says, serving himself some grilled vegetables. Belial might as well have told him that it would rain over the weekend. 

“How… very informative,” Lucio says, still struggling to keep his cheery face up. Now that’s much better.

“You think so? Didn’t you say you wanted to know more about what your brother’s been up to?”

“I did say something like that but—”

“Well you see...” 

It’s easy to lie with the truth. Belial has plenty of bedroom stories, and he’s always been experimental. With a nice face and honeyed words, it’s easy to coax people into letting him into their beds. Of course, he hasn’t actually managed to do so with Lucilius, who’s made it very clear he’s not interested whatsoever, but nobody else at the table needs to know that. Isn’t it easy to pull from some past experiences and replace a few names?

Sandalphon looks relatively ill. Lucifer is eating much more slowly than before. Lucio has been staring into the contents of his glass since the conversation started. Bahamut is eating calmly, and the twins are sparkling with curiosity. Well, you can’t win them all. 

When he tapers off— after all, it would be a little suspicious if he had _too_ many stories— the table is dead silent.

“That was… enlightening,” Lucifer says, clearly trying to be positive.

“It was,” Gran replies, in a wildly different tone.

Lucilius finishes off the steak in his plate, and wipes his mouth. His hand finds Belial’s arm, fingernails digging into fabric. “Why don’t we talk elsewhere?” he says, polite smile on his lips.

Belial feels a chill slip down his spine, but he still follows Lucilius regardless. 

Lucilius drags him upstairs, a few rooms down so that they wouldn’t be overheard unless someone came up to the second floor. The moment he stops, he drops the act. “What was _that_?”

“Adventure stories,” says Belial, unbothered. “Don’t you know that in our good Christian society, nothing makes people cringe more than sex?”

“I don’t care about that. I don’t care that it worked.” Lucilius takes a step closer, eyes flashing at him, cold fire. “You can debase yourself all you want, but what do you think you’re doing, lying about me?”

“Come on, think about it. The twins know my reputation, and how likely is it that I’d turn saintly? I’m going to stop my hedonism just because I’m dating you?” He licks his lips, setting his grin to Lucilius’ scowl. “You’re stubborn, but aren’t you a scientist? Wouldn’t you just love to try out new things?”

“That’s an argument you’d never win.”

“Oh, but they don’t know that, do they?”

Lucilius curls his lips over his teeth, even whiter than his ghostly skin, acid at the ready. Whatever words he has in his mouth die when they both hear the creak of the stairs. Lucilius whirls sharply, eyes set on the hall. 

It’s Lucio, looking tentatively around the corner. “Oh. There you are.” Lucilius’ ire tracks on his brother, but Lucio brushes it off with ease. “Are you done with your conversation?”

“Quiet. Enough of your games. What do you want?”

Lucio’s face twitches. He keeps his silence for a long moment. “I’m sure you’re trying to make a statement to father, but…” Lucio’s expression is gentle, like he’s trying to handle something venomous in his palm. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Have your boyfriend lie. You don’t have to exaggerate your lifestyle just to shock us.”

Maybe he did lay it on a little too hard. He thought he balanced out the stories just enough, but perhaps the fact that there were even stories to begin with was suspicious. There’s some way he can surely salvage this, but he needs to think of a good angle—

“Exaggerations. For someone who claims to be so knowledgeable, you’re still so ignorant as to what’s happening under your nose.” Lucilius’ full fury is on Lucio now. “I don’t remember inviting your opinion or your critique. I’m quite content with my lifestyle. Now get out of my sight.”

Lucio stands there, frozen. His eyes start working again, then his lips. “Alright… if you say so. Come down for dessert soon.”

Belial feels his blood pumping, pulsing so impossibly hard he can barely stand it. He wants to kiss Lucilius until his legs tense up, color Lucilius’ unblemishable skin dark with his lips, paint his tongue in a line across Lucilius’ neck, but he remembers his purpose and stays together. But he bends down and whispers, “Changed your mind?”

“I’ll use all the tools at my disposal,” Lucilius replies, voice cool, but he can hear the sneer beneath the ice. 

Lucilius is beautiful the way poisonous animals are; brightly colored and lovely to look at, but touch him and your skin rots off. Gorgeous. Belial wants all of him. 

 

* * *

 

Sandalphon may be an uptight virgin, but he makes a damn good cup of coffee. “Sandy, you’re good at this. The flavor runs all over my tongue, nice and thick and bitter.”

“……Thanks.”

Lucifer takes a sip from his cup, humming. “Belial’s right. You really are getting much better.”

“Th-Thank you.” Sandalphon sputters, ears tinted pink. He angles his legs towards Lucifer, thumbing the handle of his cup. What a maiden in love.

He prepares some barbs to ruin Sandalphon’s illusion, but Djeeta drops down next to Belial, the couch bouncing under her weight.“You’ve been pretty adventurous, huh?”

“It’s all standard for me. But for Faa-san…”

“So how did you convince him? That couldn’t have been easy.”

“Convince him? That’s a little mean, all he’s done is become more open to my needs.”

“It’s a physical and hormonal response,” Lucilius dryly adds, sipping his tea. “Very basic natural needs, unfortunately.”

“Don’t be so stiff!” Gran knocks his head into Lucilius’ shoulder, earning a scowl. These twins are something else. “Bet you and Belial must restock your wallets a lot, huh?”

“Paying by card is much easier.”

“I mean, more like Belial must…”

Lucilius looks flatly at Gran. “You think I let Belial pay for all my expenses?”

Lucifer coughs loudly, diffusing the issue before it reaches critical mass. 

“Sandalphon’s coffee is the best, but you know what goes well with coffee? Cookies. And you didn’t get any dessert yet!” Djeeta pulls Belial to his feet. “Come on, you have to try Lucifer’s linzer cookies.”

Belial resists but damn, this girl is stronger than he thought. He tries her arm, and it’s pure iron. This house is large enough that if she was going to hurt him, nobody would be able to hear a thing, but somehow he feels like she isn’t one of _those_ fans. 

Djeeta piles the cookies onto her plate and he starts to take some himself when, “Hey, can I see your wallet?”

Belial goes instantly on the defensive. He’s had enough close calls with stalkers and nearly having his home address leaked to know that there’s too much information that can be found in his wallet. “Why?”

“I want to check something. No, Gran and I aren’t going to show up at your house.”

“You’ll be in trouble if you do.”

“Right. Wallet please.”

Belial cautiously hands it over, plucking out his ID before he does. 

Djeeta takes it, rifles through it without looking at his cards, and hands it back. “So, when are you going to tell them?”

Belial chews on a cookie, feeling the pinolis melt in his mouth. “Tell them what?” 

“That you haven’t slept with Lucilius.” Djeeta cuts herself a slice of lemon meringue. “Because you haven’t, right?”

Belial has long since perfected his poker face to be thrown off by a mere shock. “What makes you say that?”

“Everyone knows what your habits are. If you’ve done all those things with Lucilius, why is his first thought of what’s in your wallet money and not condoms?”

“He’s not exactly the sharing type.”

“Yeah, he’s not. But he’s not stupid either, he would’ve picked up on it. He didn’t.”

“And you came to that conclusion, but not the others?”

Djeeta shrugs. “We’re your fans. We know what you’re like, kind of.”

Belial replies with a meaningless movement of his head. Sure, he’s had fans, and he’s had superfans, the kind that try to pry his every movement through social media and forums, but they’ve never come this close. He’s never let them come so close. 

Djeeta watches his face, waiting. 

“...Yeah. Lucilius isn’t fond of the idea at all, and I’m not going to force him.”

“You’d better not. If you did, he’d leave your entrails all over the street as a warning.”

“Whoa, hey now. I’m not a creep.”

“I figured.” She nibbles on the edges of a cookie, downing most of the jelly on the surface. “Well, not surprising that you couldn’t convince him. Lucilius has always been like that.”

“What, just because he’s not interested? That’s a little harsh.”

“Not _caring_. There’s a difference. Lucilius doesn’t bother doing things that will bore him. And everyone knows that.” She pops a cookie into her mouth, chewing, awaiting his next move.  

“You’re a fun one, aren’t you?” A dangerous one, a singularity in a house full of sheep. “Tell you what, it’s not very fun to ruin surprises too early. How about if I slide you some of the band’s tracks before they get released and you forget about this whole conversation?”

“Gran too.”

“Done.”

They shake on it, firm.

“Question though— why aren’t you telling Lucio? He’s not happy with us already, wouldn’t knowing that Faa-san and I aren’t actually being sex monsters together ease his mind?”

“Yeah, it would. But you see, if Lucio gets frustrated, then Gran and I can comfort him when he gets upset.”

“So you have some extra duties outside of the office?”

“Not yet we don’t.”

Oh, he likes her. 

Djeeta returns to the living room, and he follows her a bit, enough to see her bounce on over to Sandalphon to heckle him instead. Swerving into a detour, he wanders for a bit until he finds an empty room, as hollowly furnished as the rest of the house. He lights a cigarette by the window, watching the smoke curdle up the glass, thinking about danger. 

He weighs his options for a few minutes. Risk, or fun? He’s lived so far balancing both, but he’s not sure about this one anymore. 

“There you are. How long does it take for you to get dessert?”

“Sorry, Faa-san.”

Lucilius makes his way over, snatching the plate away from Belial. He tests the first cookie, chewing slowly like he’s waiting to taste needles. 

“Nice place your dad’s got here.”

“Oh yes. Isn’t it grand?”

“Sure is. Like a furniture store for rich people.”

Lucilius scoffs. When Belial looks at him close, there’s a vacancy in his eyes, one that’s only made by spinning a thought over and over again. He says nothing at first, and then, mutely, “I’d love to see it all burn.”

Belial nurses his cigarette, feels around in his pocket. He strikes up a match and holds it out to Lucilius. Lucilius goes quiet, watching the flame flicker down the wood, then up to Belial, probing for answers. Belial offers him a smile. Matches burn fast and bright, and there’s not much space left before the fire hits his fingers.

Lucilius plucks it and blows the flame out. “If anything happens now, everyone will know it was me.”

“Later, then?”

“Later,” Lucilius says, throwing the extinguished match into a vase of tiger lilies.

 

* * *

 

“Are you leaving already?”

“You can’t stop me.”

Lucio falters a little, tongue at the bottom of his mouth. 

“Are you coming to dinner next month?” Lucifer asks. Where Lucilius flat-out ignores Lucio, he gives Lucifer a noncommittal shrug. “Please come.”

Lucilius clicks his tongue and starts towards the garage, but that isn’t a no. 

“Hey, well, it was nice meeting all of you.”

Djeeta and Gran hug him at the same time, with Gran whispering, “We’ll be in touch,” when Belial goes to hug them back. Sandalphon just glares at him, one that intensifies when Belial tells him low, “Let me know when you’re ready to please Lucifer, okay?” He doesn’t even flinch when Sandalphon oh so accidentally slams his stiletto into the toe of Belial’s right boot. Lucifer is more proactive, offering Belial a smile and a promise, “Let’s talk more next time.” Belial agrees by kissing Lucifer’s cheek, making sure to make eye contact with Sandalphon as he does so. To Lucio, Belial leans close and spins details until his pale skin is flushed red. 

He thinks that’ll be all, but then Bahamut has reappeared at the bottom of the staircase. Belial pauses; he has no idea how to approach this unreadable man with no openings. Sticking with the standard, Belial shakes his hand. “It’s a pleasure.” Bahamut’s smile is cryptic, like he knows something more, but Belial isn’t sure what it is. 

Lucilius is very clearly not having a good time dragging the bike out of the garage, so Belial takes charge instead, kickstarting the engine and getting everything into place. 

“Where’s the side-car?” Lucio asks.

Lucilius looks his brother dead in the face. “What’s a side-car?”

Belial steps on the gas, and they zoom away.

They run easy through the night, engine disturbing the quiet neighborhood. Miles pass as the bike devours concrete. Traffic is smooth on the way back, just the wind and the lights whipping by. 

Belial hums through it all, refreshed. This was better than any stress relief, seeing the family squirm under his finger! They all danced so well. 

At a red light, Belial shouts back, “Had fun?”

Lucilius doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t dig his nails in either. He’s gripping just tight enough to be functional, and Belial can feel Lucilius’ slow, measured heartbeat against his back. 

As soon as they get back to the apartment, Lucilius yanks off his helmet and tosses it aside. Guess the most he’s used to having on his face are goggles and a face mask. Belial watches him shuffle around the apartment for a while, content to have Lucilius all to himself in a small space again. “Well, that was a good time.”

“Yes, wonderful. Poor company as always. That was a disaster. Obscene, a disgusting display of hormones. You’ve made a horrible impression, doesn’t matter whether you’re a famous musician or not.” 

Belial flops down onto the couch and lights a cigarette. “Just what you wanted, right?”

Lucilius’ back is to him, but Belial sees something in his profile, an upward rift on his face, more of a void than a smile. Belial chuckles to himself, taking a long drag. 

Most people would say they’re lucky, but Belial, he hit the goddamn jackpot. Oh, for Lucilius, he knows he’s chosen right, and he knows he’d do anything. 


	3. Transformation Theory

“And done.” Belial finishes off the last of the sutures, giving Gran a pat on the back. “Good job sitting through that.”

“We’re used to stitching each other up,” Gran holds up his hand, inspecting Belial’s work. The large gash is still red and swollen, but it doesn’t look in danger of infection. “But thanks, these are way more precise than Djeeta’s.”

“Hey.” Djeeta playfully slaps her brother’s arm. 

“This was quite unexpected,” Lucio tells Belial. “But thank you for giving Gran first aid.” Lucio turns down to Gran, “And you, you’re usually so careful with cooking.”

“I didn’t _plan_ on cutting my hand open, honest.”

Belial wipes down his hands and the needles from his recent sewing project. They’ll have to be disinfected later. “No problem. Been a while since I did that.”

“What, you got into a lot of fights?”

“Nah. Used to be an EMT.”

Everyone in the room stares at him.

He stares back smiling, drinking in their surprise. “Did you think I was a dumb punk just because of how I dress?”

“Not at all,” Lucifer quickly says. “You’re obviously very intelligent.”

“Lucifer gets it.”

“Well I don’t,” Sandalphon cuts in. “Who let _you_ into a hospital?”

“My coworkers? I had the qualifications. I was in med school and—“

“Fuck off. No you weren’t.”

“It’s the truth,” Belial grins at Sandalphon, predator at the ready.

“Don’t you need years of training for that?”

“EMT, Sandy, not paramedic. Paramedics get called when someone’s about to die. EMTs get called for dumb shit. All I needed to do to qualify was take a test and have a driver’s license. Like that’s hard.”

Sandalphon’s glare would be enough to char Belial five times over.

“How wonderful. You and my brother are both science people! One of the things that drew you together. Is that right?” Lucifer turns to Lucilius, who had turned over on the couch, trying not to let the information he just heard seep into his brain. 

Lucilius doesn’t reply. Of course, he knew about Belial’s work history, it was in the files the PI had dug up for him. When he read them, they were outrageous. That Belial is confirming them in person— that’s too much for Lucilius to handle.

“Hey, my med days are old news. All that care and fussing just wasn’t my thing— now music, _that’s_ my thing.”

“Thank god for that career change,” Sandalphon grumbles.

“Come on,” Belial slings an arm over Sandalphon’s shoulder, eagerly watching him simmer. “You’ve got to have some work stories of your own. What was your first job before you moved to the big city?”

“None of your damn business.”

“How hostile! Well, these days working in a cafe doesn’t mean you don’t have a degree… what did you study? You’re still pretty young, it couldn’t have been that long ago.”

Sandalphon grinds his teeth and looks down, mumbling.

“Sorry? I didn’t catch that.”

“I said, I don’t have one. Okay? College is expensive, and my… grades weren’t good enough for scholarship. That money should go to my sister, she’s smart. I needed money. I had to get a job, and I thought that maybe this would get me the experience for…”

Lucilius scoffs. Lucifer’s choice in men is even worse than he thought.

“Oh? Sandy is the family disappointment? Spent too much time on the street and not enough with your books? Well, don’t let it get you down, you still have a job and you work real hard, don’t you? And,” Belial’s eyes shine, “experience for what?”

“For screwing off.”

“Aww, after I spilled my old days working in the hospital? Don’t be so stuck up.”

Sandalphon purses his lips, stiff like all his muscles cramped at once. Then, “A cafe. I’m good at making coffee. I know a lot. I might as well make money off it.”

“So that’s why you’re working crazy hours? Gaining knowledge?”

Sandalphon glares at the ground, sour at being forced to talk. “I guess so. I have learned a lot.”

“Punched any customers yet?”

“You haven’t visited the store, so no.”

“But your coffee is so good, delicious and warm. Well, that’s fine, I’ll find out where you work one of these days. And in the meantime, you’ve got the perfect sugar daddy here to—“

Sandalphon lands an expert right hook to Belial’s stomach.

Lucifer gasps. “Sandalphon!” 

Sandalphon looks a little guilty then; not for punching Belial, but for doing it in front of Lucifer.

Belial’s laugh stutters as he catches his breath. “You like it rough, don’t you?”

When Lucifer sits next to Sandalphon, Sandalphon turns his head so fast he might have snapped his neck. Lucifer looks at him with that silent urgency, and Sandalphon leans in so much that it’s sickening. “I value you, no matter what. I wouldn’t want anyone else.” 

“I…” Sandalphon could either deny Lucifer’s choice to his face by putting himself down, or accept the compliment. “...Thank you.”

Repulsive. They do this at least once every family gathering. 

Lucio watches this all silently, then turns down to Gran. “You just cut your hand, right? In that case, you should be fine...”

“Wait, wait. Don’t you know? My hand is stitched up, but there’s also treatment afterward, right? Emotional treatment. I’ve been through a shock, so it’s important that I remain comfortable. What you’re doing right now is working great.”

“I see! That makes sense. In that case, relax as much as you want!”

Gran turns over in Lucio’s lap, nuzzling against his thighs. “Thanks. That’s perfect.”

Lucilius sighs. These are the people he’s related to, unfortunately. 

 

* * *

 

These days Belial insists that Lucilius eats breakfast before he leaves. It’s really nothing serious; Lucilius makes sure to have a full dinner and enough of a lunch to give him energy, but not so much that his digestion starts getting him tired in the office. Belial defers to Lucilius for a lot of things, but he isn’t budging on this. 

It started out with a piece of toast, small enough that Lucilius could chew it down in three minutes and then leave. But there’s an extra piece of toast, a bigger cup of tea, chopped fruit, yogurt. It takes Lucilius twenty minutes to get through everything, such a waste of time.

Belial looks only at him, smiles from across the table. There’s nothing special about the way Lucilius eats. There’s nothing to smile at. He doesn’t understand, and it annoys him.  

“Don’t you have a blogger to call?”

“That’s at 10. Until then, we have all the time in the world.”

“Structured breakfasts like these are unnecessary.”

“But they are efficient.” Belial goads Lucilius where he knows it works. “Good food in the morning means energy for the day. You don’t want to slouch during work, right?”

Lucilius begrudgingly bites into a sliced pear. Belial sits back satisfied, knowing he won. At least Lucilius can take the tea and toast with him on his commute.

It doesn’t take long to get to the labs, maybe a twenty minute walk. Those twenty minutes are an annoyance during the winter, but while the weather is still warm, it’s tolerable. 

He stops to get his mug from the coffee table, but the hallway is crowded today. All of his scientists are loitering outside the lab, definitely not having a coffee break. They go quiet when they notice him approaching.

“Why are you all just standing around? Don’t you have work to do?”

“Oh, Dr. Bahamut.” One of the scientists approaches him with a careful smile. Her fingers are twisted together. Something’s wrong. “There’s been an… incident in the lab. We all decided we shouldn’t stay inside.”

“What incident?” Did one of the interns destroy the centrifuge? Did someone break a tub of beakers and send glass all over the floor again?

“Ah… that… well…”

“Someone dumped mercury down the sink,” another scientist speaks up, not looking up from his phone. 

“The safety people are going to love us,” dryly says a third.

Lucilius inhales deeply, feeling his blood pressure skyrocketing. Times like this really tests his commitment to keeping himself off any addictive substances. He could really use a cigarette right now. Or a drink. Or a coma.

“If it helps,” offers the first scientist who spoke, sensing Lucilius’ ire, “I’ve already called health and safety.”

“Right,” Lucilius snarls, patience already at zero. “When they get here, send them to my office.” In the meantime, he’s going to sit down and contemplate his life choices.

He shuts the door to his office. He is not accepting visitors. Truly unfortunate things about heading a lab: endless grant requests to write, constant emails with the institution board, budget revisions, all between his own research. If he even does his own research. He feels like it’s been far too long since he last published his own work, with administrative tasks clogging up his schedule. Maybe he should get an assistant, but he doubts that he’ll be able to find someone competent enough to keep up with his demands and workflow. Better to just do everything himself.

Health and Safety always take their time to get anywhere, such is bureaucracy. He gets two hours of relative peace before there’s a call from the front desk. “Dr. Bahamut? There’s someone here to see you.”

He doesn’t have any appointments scheduled today. “Who is it?”

“He was very stubborn about not giving his name, just said to call you. I told him that’s not how things work around here, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Describe him.”

“He has sunglasses on, so I can’t really see his face but… tall, long white hair, loose clothing?”

“Does he have a boy and a girl with him?”

“Yes, he does.” When Lucilius groans, the guard asks, “Should I call the police?”

“No, send them up.” This is the last thing he needs in his life. 

He waits five minutes. Ten. His lab is on the 12th floor and is straight down the hall after leaving the elevator— what could possibly be taking so long? Unlike the main hospital, this building isn’t a maze. He storms out of his office and looks for the commotion. 

It’s around noon, and Lucio has somehow amassed the entire floor’s lunch crowd around him. Men and women alike all seem determined to get his number, and Lucio is too stupid to deny them. His politeness only intensifies the crowd, each person stepping in to give their luck a try. Gran and Djeeta remain affixed to Lucio’s sides, making sure that nobody gets too close. This has always happened. 

“You,” he snarls, his voice an incision in the excitement. “My office. Now.”

The twins clear the way with ease, already used to holding back much bigger crowds. As the two brothers pass, Lucilius hears the crowd whispering how different they are, even if they have the same face. How the gloomy doctor is nothing like the new guest, maybe if he straightened up a little, became more fashionable, or—

Lucilius drops into his office chair and fixes his harshest glare on his guests. Lucio is immune, marveling at every detail of the office. “It’s so different than the photos online.”

“Hey, do you have a coffee machine? I am not feeling my morning caffeine.” Gran asks from the door. Djeeta has taken a seat next to Lucio, but he’s standing watch outside. 

“Down the hall.”

Gran offers a salute of thanks before leaving, but then Djeeta cuts in, pointing to the specimen jar on the bookshelf. “That wasn’t in the pictures either.”

“That’s Eve’s.” She shed her skin cleanly in one piece last time, and Belial gave it to him as a gift. He doesn’t have many decorations in the office, but he does have that. 

She gasps happily, marveling at it.

“Eve…?” Lucio quirks an eyebrow.

“Belial’s snake.”

“Your boyfriend has a snake with your—“

“Yes. It’s a coincidence. And _you_.” Lucilius points all his ire at his brother. “I believe I’ve told you countless times to never come to my workplace unless there’s an emergency.”

“There is an emergency.”

“Is Father dead?”

Lucio looks at him, patient. “No. Something else. I have a problem.”

“And?”

“I need your help with it. It’s confidential, so I can’t just say it on the phone. Please?”

Lucilius couldn’t care less if Paradise thrives or crashes. He’s long divorced his funds from the family business, so if the worst comes to pass, he’ll be fine. But Lucio is giving him that kicked look, and he knows how his brother gets when he’s pressed. “If I help you, then you will leave instantly. No cafe sit-downs afterwards. Out of the building.”

“Oh, alright.” Lucio sighs at having his plans preemptively cut down.

“Then what is it? Give me all the details.”

Lucio waves his hand, and Djeeta takes out a manilla folder from her briefcase, passing it over to Lucilius. Inside the folder is a clipped stack of documents; a map of London with several locations marked, a promotional magazine for a conference, details of a deal, four profiles.“This is confidential.”

“Really, who am I going to tell?” But Lucio doesn’t blink at him, and Lucilius sighs. “I won’t say anything.”

“Good, good. There’s going to be an aerospace summit in two weeks, with a few prospective companies showing projects worth investing in. We’re thinking of four of them; their representatives are those profiles there. People think everything is decided at the conferences, but those are just the introductions. We can steer the talks towards our side at the conference, and do the actual work elsewhere. So while everyone is waiting for day two, we can go around and finalize the deals… but you know this already.”

“So what’s the problem? Just go to all the representatives’ hotels after you’ve confirmed that what they have is legitimate.”

“That’s the plan! But the problem is that I’m not the only one who’s going to be thinking that. Otherworld is also attending. Astar is sending Magus to take care of things on their end. And she’s awful. You know she called the police on me last time? ‘Possession of unlawful substances’, hmph, she just wanted to slow me down.” Lucio idly rubs a lock of his hair between his fingers, pouting. “She never got over Lucifer slapping Otherworld with that giant lawsuit.”

Otherworld and Paradise have been rival companies since their Father founded the company, and who knows how far back that was. Lucio and Lucifer’s paths don’t usually cross in the workplace, but he remembers that one incident well— it was all the two of them complained about during the holidays a few years back. “Is Magus still upset about that? It’s not even her jurisdiction.”

“It’s not, but she had to do PR damage control after that and never forgave us. And Astar never forgives anyone, ever. Well, that’s Otherworld’s fault anyway. If you’re going to escalate a tribal conflict so you can access an oil pipeline, the least you could do is be subtle about it. Anyway, Astar’s smart, and she’s going to be making sure Magus is doing the same things we are.”

Lucilius spreads the map of the area out on the table, notes where all the officials from the four companies are staying. Nowhere nearby each other. “You can’t just send them the contracts?”

“No, that sort of thing needs a personal touch, you know! Text blurs together, but people pay attention if someone is right in front of them! A reputable face of the company has to meet them face to face.” Lucio slumps onto Djeeta’s shoulder. “Why do the hotels have to be so far apart! Traffic is terrible enough!”

“There, there,” Djeeta pats Lucio, taking the opportunity to push them closer together. Lucio doesn’t notice, but no surprise there. 

Lucilius squints at the map. Lucio isnt exaggerating, it would take at least fifteen minutes between hotels. Not terrible overall, but it’s the worst scenario when dealing with competitors. Deals don’t take a terribly long period of time, especially not when Lucio is in charge of things, but between travel, time for discussions, that’s looking to be three hours. And that’s in the best case scenario, barring traffic and potential time cushions in case the representatives don’t catch on fast enough. With that timeframe, there’s no way that Lucio can get to everyone before Otherworld does. Lucio can’t just call them up beforehand either; to make an appointment is fine but nobody would discuss confidential information over the phone.

There has to be a way to see everyone. Lucilius looks at his brother drooped over Djeeta and scoffs, but then it clicks. “You said a ‘reputable face of the company’. You didn’t say it had to be you.”

“You know Father isn’t going to…”

“Not Father. But someone else can deliver the contracts. Like the two assistants that are around you all the time. Whatever they hand over has to be from you.”

Djeeta’s mouth opens, surprised.

Lucio raises his head from her shoulder. “But it’s no good to leave me unprotected, right?”

“You don’t have to send them both. They’re not conjoined. Most people seem to think you have some sort of charm— it’s easy to fool the blind. You know how to close a deal quickly, or else Father wouldn’t have given you the position. And the twins are actually personable.”

“Aww, we knew you loved us,” Djeeta says.

Lucilius taps the map. “It will take fifteen minutes from your hotel to get to the hotel where the first representative will be staying. In the meantime, one of the twins can go to the hotel where the second one is. You can finish up a deal in forty-five minutes if you rush it. That’s more than enough for you, isn’t it?”

“Otherworld is pretty nasty though. One time they put a rock through the car window so we’d have to file a claim instead of doing business as usual.”

“So use tricks of your own. Leak Otherworld’s plan to their competitors, as much detail as you can find. That way while everyone is putting together a countermeasure and slowing them down, then you can strike.”

Lucio bobs his head. “Mm, but that’ll _only_ slow them down…”

“Then greenmail them. That would stop them for good.”

“I can’t greenmail Otherworld. They’re not public, and there’s no way they’d turn over stocks to me.”

“But you can greenmail the trading companies they’re partnered with. That’ll cause enough chaos for you to get everything done. Problem solved.”

Lucio nods, aimlessly looking at the papers, thinking his proposal over. 

Gran whistles from the door, coffee cup in hand. “Wild. It was exactly like you said. That’s crazy.”

Lucilius whips his head towards Gran. “What does that mean?”

“Your proposal’s pretty much the same thing Lucio came up with. Except he suggested putting out the information through an online newspaper instead of going directly to their competitors.”

“It’s too unbelievable if it comes through a reputable source, especially in today’s media.” Lucio smooths out the large ribbon on his gauzy shirt. “After all, big papers are all bought out, so say the masses. But if a small paper says it and puts it up on social media, that will get people digging and then maybe a big story will get out. If it’s on the internet, then it must be true, right?”

Lucilius’ blood runs cold. “You. You tricked me.”

“Don’t say it like that. I really did have a problem with this. I just needed a second opinion to see if what I came up with would work.” Lucio’s smile is angelic. Demonic. “I know my little brother is so smart. If anyone can solve this, it would’ve been you. You have a talent for this, after all.”

“Haven’t you gotten tired of trying to recruit me? I told you, I’m not interested. I’ve decided to work here and you can cry all you want about it. I’m not changing my mind.”

Lucio doesn’t say anything, but he has that serene smile and thinking eyes, promising that he knows something Lucilius doesn’t. 

Lucilius has no patience for this. “I solved your problem. Now get out.”

“Sure you don’t want the coffee? Gran looked up this nice cafe around here—“

“ _Out._ ”

“Oh alright, alright.” Lucio gets up and sighs, like he’s dealing with a petulant child. “It’s so hard being a big brother sometimes...”

But Lucilius has already picked up the phone and started dialing security.

“Dinner’s on the 23rd. We’re having lamb. Don’t be late!” Lucio calls over his shoulder as Djeeta pushes him out the door.

Lucilius waits until he can’t hear their footsteps anymore to slam the phone down. Security hadn’t picked up by then, shame. What he wouldn’t give to see Lucio dragged out in handcuffs. Or thrown out the window.

He slams his head down onto the desk, groaning. Today is really not his day.

 

* * *

 

His sour mood trails behind him, out the door, down the street, into the apartment. He feels an itchiness in his hands, like he wants to strangle something. Lucifer always suggested to punch a pillow to relieve stress, but he faltered when Lucilius tried that and tore the pillow apart at the seams. Belial’s pillows are the good kind, soft but firm enough that they won’t easily compress over time. They’re good lap rests when he’s working on the sofa, and it would be a waste to ruin them.

He has a better idea.

Eve lifts her head up when he opens her enclosure, happily slithering forward when he offers his hand to her. She coils up his arm, twisting around his shoulders; she likes to climb, he’s seen her contort around Belial multiple times. He feels her on his left shoulder, tousling his bangs with her head, and starts walking.

In the corner of the kitchen is a small cage, with six small white mice running around inside. When he opens the cage to grab one, he feels Eve grow taut against his neck, hungry eyes watching. She slithers forward impatiently, head bobbing as she watches Lucilius paralyze the mouse with a dull thump. He sits on the couch, letting her onto the coffee table, her usual hunting grounds when she’s not in her enclosure. 

The mouse can’t move anymore, but it bobs on the edge of Lucilius’ tongs, and that’s enough for Eve. She lunges, striking and scooping the mouse up in her coils in a second. She is patient, methodical, deadly. It’s a pleasure to watch her work. 

The front door opens, and in walks Belial, yawning. He sets his helmet to the side, and shuffles off his bag. He sees the scene and quirks an eyebrow. “Live-feeding Eve kind of bad day, huh?”

“She is very quick.” Lucilius doesn’t take his eyes off her, watching her swallow the mouse down. “Intelligent and calculating.”

“She’s a beauty.” Belial kneels down, bringing himself eye-level to the table. “Aren’t you, girl?” Usually Belial would dote on her, but Eve doesn’t like to be disturbed when she’s eating. She’ll finish her meal and then laze around for a while. He’s satisfied with some photos, angling his camera up to get Lucilius in the shot as well. He frowns, but Belial is still smiling when he puts his phone down. 

“Aren’t you going to get tired of taking pictures of me?”

“Nope.” Belial snaps another one to punctuate his choice. “Faa-san in real life is good, but the pictures are a great fantasy when you’re not there.”

Lucilius doesn’t want to know.

Belial reaches up, and bats at Lucilius’ bangs with his fingers. “Your hair’s gotten long again.”

Lucilius’ phone is out in a second, and horribly so, his hair is down to his shoulders again. He clicks his tongue, nausea gurgling in his throat. He looks horrible, the spitting image of—

He grabs the scissors from the canister of pens on the table, startling Eve, but Belial grabs his wrist before he can open them. “Whoa. You’re going to cut your hair, right now? By yourself? On the couch?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Lucilius growls, too impatient to be deterred.

“That explains why your bangs are always uneven. And if you cut your hair here, we’ll have hair sticking to our pants for a year.” Belial wrenches the scissors free and waves his arm towards the bathroom. “You first.”

Belial’s no hairdresser, but he brings in a low stool and places a towel on the rim of the bathtub. He sets up the scissors and combs on the edge of the sink like a doctor laying out surgical tools. “Okay, shirt off.” When Lucilius burns a hole through him with his glare, Belial says, “Or do you want hair to get all over it?”

Lucilius wrinkles his nose, but starts unbuttoning his shirt. It slips off his shoulders and onto the floor. Too much skin exposed. Other people don’t have a right to see his body. It’s too vulnerable, revealing. Lucilius hates is how everything is sex and everything isn’t, how every casual action is an exchange of currency working its way up to a sexual encounter. People looking at his body before hearing his words. He can’t think of a word that’s sexual that doesn’t fill him with disgust. It’s all emotion, the abandoning of rationality in the mad act of becoming weaker. Warmth, blood pulsing, prickling, wet, squirming, horrifying. It has no place in someone like him, who prides himself on logical thought.

And of course, the man who’s wormed himself into his life is only sex. He knows Belial wants him, and Belial’s never hidden it either. Even that, he admits, is disgustingly refreshing, because Belial is so blatant. There is no undercurrent, there are only the waves. But even the most controlled flow would still swell up at an opportunity like this.

He peeks at Belial over his shoulder. Belial isn’t even looking remotely his way, taking the time to clean the scissors instead. “You can sit down,” he says, putting in extra effort to get something gummy off the edges. 

“Don’t slouch. Keep your back straight,” Belial says when Lucilius slides onto the stool. “Just like that.”

Lucilius forgot to bring his papers in with him, so there’s nothing to keep himself occupied. The grout is slightly cracked, and the bar of soap is running thin. Belial keeps all of his bath products along the edges, and Lucilius idly reads the contents off the differently colored bottles. Anything to keep his eyes busy.

He’s always known that Belial likes to touch him in what little ways he allows; a flick against his hair, a hand on his, contact that lasts a little too long. Now is no different, with Belial running the comb through far too many times to be useful, putting in too much effort than necessary for a simple trim. He waits for Belial’s hands to wander. 

They don’t. But Belial is careful, and the scissors don’t nick his neck even once.

“All done!” Belial brushes the hair off his shoulders and helps him up. He definitely has a little too much fun rubbing the towel all across Lucilius’ head, even when he takes a kick to the knees.

It’s not a bad haircut, all things considering. Despite Belial’s teasing, Lucilius’ bangs are still uneven.

The person in the mirror looks like him again. Good.

 

* * *

 

Belial has been staring at him very persistently over the past few days. That’s not exactly unusual, but it’s becoming increasingly annoying to try to work knowing that there’s a pair of eyes on him all the time.

Finally, “If there’s something you have to say to me, say it.”

Belial properly looks up from his many piles of books, all bought for the sake of ‘inspiration’ or something, who knows how musicians work. He’s arranged them all on his side of the table, but the constant glances he’s sneaking isn’t him keeping to himself. “You’re working hard.”

“And?” 

“Haven’t you been going at it a little too hard these days?”

“I’m always working.”

“Mm. That’s a problem. I haven’t seen you stop working, not even to look at Eve. Whatever it was from a couple days back annoy you that much?”

“Spare me your psychoanalysis.”

Belial puts his book down. “Are you going to rest anytime soon?”

“I don’t see why I should.”

“Come on, we could go out to dinner. Maybe have a spa day. Something to break the grind.”

“I’m not wasting my time on such useless frivolities.”

Belial sighs dramatically. “So stubborn.”

“And you’re being a nuisance.”

They both stare at each other, neither backing down. 

Then Belial stands up, puts up his hands. “Ookay. If that’s how it’s going to be.”

Belial knows two things: Lucilius is still underweight, and he doesn’t keep any of his self-defense tools nearby him when he’s at home. It is painfully easy to sling Lucilius over his shoulder and haul him protesting away from the table. All he needs to keep Lucilius down on the bed are two heavy blankets and his body weight.

“You will have to move eventually,” Lucilius darkly promises, as soon as he’s free of the first blanket. “As soon as you get tired.”

But Belial flashes him a smile back. “I’ve got a lot of endurance. I can last a while, you’ll see.”

Lucilius snarls, trying once again to free himself, but to no avail. Belial is much heavier than he is, and this is a poor position to use his body weight against him. Worst off, Belial is looking particularly content where he is right now. Sighing, Lucilius lets the blankets swallow him up. 

“Day off tomorrow?” Belial nonchalantly asks.

“Don’t you have practice?”

“I do, but that’s early on. And you’re tired.”

Lucilius clicks his tongue.

“It’s fine, I think I’ve read over enough today.” Belial flops down next to Lucilius, angled to still keep the blankets anchored in place. Obnoxious. “I’ll keep you company.”

He doesn’t need the company. The weather is too warm to be under all this weight. There are things to be done, and they can’t be finished while he’s cocooned like this. For once he’s still, perfectly inert. Slowness starts in his stomach, and eases into his fingertips. He drops his head against the pillow and closes his eyes. 

When he sleeps, he doesn’t dream of anything.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up slowly, easing into the world. No shrill alarms spiking his heart rate. No adrenaline and feeling of disorientation. The sun is too strong to be early in the morning. He’s still in his clothes from the night before, the frills by his collar pressed flat and haphazard. 

“When did it become 3PM,” Lucilius grumbles as he drags himself towards the dinner table.

“Look who’s finally up. I thought you died.”

Lucilius fixes him with a sour look. “You thought I died and you didn’t call emergency services?”

“Whenever I tried to wake you up, you kicked me, so I figured you weren’t that dead.”

Lucilius clicks his tongue and sits down across from Belial. His papers from the night before have been arranged neatly to the side, still in order. Belial has set up a small fortress of books, post-its and bookmarks breaking up the monotony of the sides. The notebook that Belial writes in has lost a quarter of its pages to the floor. 

Belial takes his headphones off, and pushes his half of a corn muffin forward. Lucilius nibbles on it without much complaint. This is the first time he’s slept in this late since how long, university? His stomach is hollowed out and will take whatever it can get.

“So, how do you feel? Refreshed? Flexible? Like you could go a few rounds?”

As much as he loathes to admit it, he does feel a lot better. There’s none of the usual sluggishness that bogs him down, and he’s awake before having touched any caffeine. “Passable.”

“Well, while you were a sleeping beauty, I’ve been nothing but blocked.” He flicks a crumpled piece of paper off the table to join the many on the floor. “I’m a lucky man, but not today. At least you’re here, I feel more energized already.”

Lucilius sighs. He’ll never quite get eager people. 

“Actually, Faa-san… maybe you have an opinion?” Belial edges forward his notebook, one page open. Lucilius stares at it for a moment, then takes it, carefully. He knows the book is fragile, and the loose paper from the unwinding binding itches his fingers. Belial could get a new one, but he won’t until the pages are completely used up. The previous pages are filled with scribbles, but this one is neatly written down, legible new lyrics. 

He gets bored three lines in. 

“I know there’s no music, so read it like a poem.”

“I don’t see the appeal.”

Belial sighs, sitting back in his chair. “That bad, huh?”

“I mean I don’t see the appeal in poetry. I can’t read it.”

“No? There’s a purpose and a pattern. It’s not completely random.”

“There is, but it’s not a format I’m used to.” If he bothered listening to music or reading poetry, he might be able to give something from the perspective of a connoisseur, but he doesn’t even qualify for that. Belial lives with him, he knows that Lucilius prefers the quiet. He hands the notebook back. “You need to ask someone who cares about music.”

“That’s not bad advice,” Belial admits. He crosses his arms over his chest, still thinking. He isn’t really listening. “It’s just… I don’t know. The things I wrote for _Something Unpleasant_ were good, but I’m not feeling the same mood this time around.”

“There’s one thing I don’t understand.”

Belial waves a hand, gesturing for him to continue. 

“What are you trying to find with all of this? Is there some kind of meaning in your music?”

“Asking the easy questions right away, huh.” Belial rubs the back of his head. “I guess, do whatever you want, be whatever you like. People care so much about stuff when it doesn’t actually matter at all. Life’s all rules, too many rules. Be free, have fun. That sort of thing.”

“And music… tells you to do that?” 

“Nah, I can’t actually _make_ anyone do anything. But I can give them that feeling, and some people really want some feeling in their lives.”

Lucilius scoffs. “Effective brainwashing.”

Belial snickers, and it sounds like a hiss more than anything else. “Not entiiirely. If it was, people would be living a lot better than they are now.” He exhales, deep in thought. “Life’s what you make of it. No point in being boring.”

He will allow Belial this. “You’re far too eccentric to be boring.”

Belial swings his chair back, his callous thank you at the ready, but he pauses, seeing something different. There’s nothing unusual behind Lucilius, but Belial brightens up regardless, the force of thoughts sparking energy through him as if he’d had some revelation. “Oh. Oh! Yeah, of course— that had to be it. Faa-san, you’re the best.” 

Lucilius hadn’t said anything profound. It doesn’t make sense, but Belial has turned to his notebook, hurriedly writing down whatever thought had struck him. At the very least, he won’t be like Belial, and drape himself across Belial’s lap when he’s trying to work. Lucilius has decency. 

There’s a folded pile of clothes by the bathroom sink, far too small to fit Belial. Not nearly enough chains and studs and leather for Belial, either. He unfolds them; dark high-waisted pants and a blouse with gathered cuffs. People buying clothes for him is nothing new. As children, the three brothers would usually give vague descriptions of clothes they wanted to wear for their stylists. Lucilius has somehow managed to settle into the style that he has now, but he doesn’t know what it would be called. He’s never cared enough about clothes to bother. 

He has no idea how Belial managed to figure out his measurements, but everything fits perfectly. They smell new, like the staleness of the store they sat in for who knows how long. They also smell faintly like cigarette smoke. 

Belial distracts himself long enough from his writing to stare at Lucilius. “Looking hot.”

“I don’t need any more clothes.”

“I know.”

“I don’t have an event tonight.”

“I know. But you look good.”

He doesn’t understand. 

 

* * *

 

If monthly dinners were already intolerable enough, today’s goes straight from bad to abysmal when Lucifer announces, “We should spend the day outside.”

“Why.”

Lucifer is oblivious to Lucilius’ displeasure. “It’s a lovely day. We should all enjoy the weather.”

Lucilius starts an objection, but Lucio chimes in. “What a great idea! Father said he was going to go fishing by the lake. Let’s go and join him.”

Sandalphon makes his way up to Lucifer, flustered. “Maybe we could go for a walk along the water?”

Lucifer’s smile is soft. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Ooh, a lover’s stroll.” Belial hums. “Mind if I tag along?”

Sandalphon’s voice drops a few octaves. “Like hell you will.”  

He’s not having any of this nonsense. Lucilius gets up from the couch, making ready to escape. He’ll sit in the basement and read a book or something.

“Lucilius?” Lucifer’s voice halts him. “You’re not coming?”

“I’ll pass.”

“Oh…” Lucifer’s eyes flit down. “It would be nice to have you spend time with us.”

Lucilius brings an umbrella. 

“You know it’s an overcast day, right?” Djeeta points out. 

Lucilius keeps his umbrella. 

He sets up along the shoreline, laying out a blanket and jamming the umbrella into the ground for shade. The twins run into the water, both trying to pull Lucio in with them. Sandalphon and Lucifer are chatting, in a world of their own as they start their walk. He sees Father on the docks, watching the water with his fishing poles.

Belial grunts as he takes a seat beside Lucilius. He places his hand, warm and heavy, onto Lucilius’ shoulder. “It is nice out.”

“Sure.”

“Do you want to—“

“No. Go annoy someone else.”

Belial’s touch lightens, and he separates his shadow from the umbrella. 

It’s quiet for a while. The umbrella blocks out the sky, but the muggy heat still sits on Lucilius’ shoulders. He can see more of the ground than the sky, and the stretch and pull of the lazy water lapping the shore. There’s nothing out in the water that he hasn’t seen before, but he watches the periphery of the lake and the thick trees blotting out the other side. 

A shadow pauses at the edge of his vision, and comes closer. He sees the white loafers by the edge of his blanket and knows it’s Lucifer. “Could you please do something about...?”

“About what?”

Lucifer falters, embarrassed, and points over his shoulder towards the docks.

Father is sitting at the end of the dock, by three lines set up for fishing. Belial is next to him, and based off how he’s lounging, how he’s posed— that isn’t just small talk they’re having.

Lucilius takes off.

“You really keep fit, huh? All those sports… your legs must be strong.”

“You’re flattering me a bit too much. I’m not a young man anymore.”

“That’s true, but you’ve aged really well. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of—”

Lucilius slams his foot into Belial’s back, knocking him clear off the docks. He lands with a giant splash, and surfaces with a yelp. “Faa-san! That hurt!”

“Disgusting. Drown and think about what you’ve done.”

“Ooh, punishment. I like that,” Belial hums, and starts making his way towards the shoreline as if he’d just gone for a casual swim.

Lucilius grinds his teeth together, seething. He turns to his father, who at most looks mildly surprised. “Ignore whatever nonsense he said to you.”

His father chuckles. “He’s certainly a character. Although I think he scared away all the fish.”

“He’s a serpent.”

With a grunt, his father gets to his feet to rearrange the fishing poles. “Do you still want to get rid of him?”

Lucilius pauses, frozen.

“I’m assuming that the PI didn’t find enough. Or maybe found just enough.”

“Did she tell you?”

“Of course not, I recommended her because she’s good at her job, and that includes confidentiality.” He sets up the last pole and sits back down again. “So?”

He sucks in a breath through his nose. “I don’t think that will be necessary anymore.” He’s not sure why he’s keeping his voice low when there’s nobody around to hear them. It’s a terrible affair to have to talk with his father regardless.

“I see. That’s good.”

“Is it?” Lucilius dryly retorts.

“You’ve gained weight. You have more color. Much healthier. You’ve always been so skinny.”

“And you think that this is because I’m in a relationship? How dull.”

“At the very least, you look happier.”

“Don’t try to act like a parent all of a sudden.”

“True. I could’ve been much better.”

“You don’t even try to deny it?”

“Would you rather I did?” 

Lucilius doesn’t respond, because he can’t tell what his father is thinking. He can never tell; Lucio claims he can decipher their father, but Lucio speaks with his wants and not his truths. Their father has always been a mystery, too far away to be human.

“If you want to curse me, you can. I won’t stop you.”

“You won’t do much of anything, as always. At least stop pretending that you want me around.”

His father merely watches the water. There’s nothing but sand and rocks below the blue, what point is there in looking? He knows where his brothers got their sentimentality from.

“Your mother didn’t want you or your brothers.” His father’s pleasant expression doesn’t change, but there’s something undeniably cold about it. “I’m glad she’s gone.”

He’ll never understand his father, but that abyssal disdain, that he can understand. 

One of the fishing lines snaps taut, and his father perks up. “It’s a nice day. Have a good time.”

“Drop dead.”

His father smiles at him, and tends to his fishing poles. He doesn’t watch Lucilius go. 

 

* * *

 

The overhead umbrella casts enough shade for Lucilius to read his book in peace away from the sun. Belial had announced that he was going to crash Lucifer and Sandalphon’s private outing and went off somewhere to harass them. If there’s anything this wretched house does have, it’s enough space to be left alone. The hum of the trees is nothing like obnoxious chatter in cafes or street traffic that the tightest window can’t shut out. There’s sound and there’s silence, but they hardly mix. 

A long shadow sprouts from the silhouette of the umbrella. He doesn’t miss this. “No.”

“I didn’t say anything yet,” Lucio says, tucking his sunglasses into his collar.

“Whatever you have to say is worthless. Go away.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Well, I don’t.”

Lucio sighs. “I thought you’d say something like that. But we need to talk. So I’ll give you a choice.”

Lucilius frowns, bristling, noticing the twins flanking him too late. 

“Do you want to be carried by Gran or Djeeta?” Lucio’s smile is the very picture of angelic. “You pick!”

“We’ve got the bridal style option or the over-the-shoulder option,” Djeeta says, blowing a bubble with her gum. “We won’t break you, even if you are pretty bony.”

“Can I carry you?” Gran asks. “We’ve been taking bets on how much you weigh.”

Lucilius’ eyes dart between the two of them. “I’ll run.”

“You can,” Djeeta says. Meaning, go give it a good try. 

Lucilius peels the skin off his bottom lip with his teeth, deciding. He folds the corner of his page and pulls his sweater tight around his chest. “Don’t touch me. I’ll walk.”

The twins look disappointed.

Lucio leads them through the small patch of forest on their property, heading towards the other side of the lake. The woods are heavy and smell far too green. The twins aren’t paying much attention, Gran is fascinated by the wildflowers growing along the trail, and Djeeta playing her mobile games. He’s not foolish enough to think that they won’t pin him down within minutes if he tries to flee. 

He quirks an eyebrow at the small boat by the docks, engine running. Lucio smiles at him, gesturing him aboard. Alright, he’ll play this game.

The lake by the house is a fairly decent size, but not too large to be cumbersome to sail around. Wide enough that nobody would be able to listen in on them without a really good pair of binoculars and a wire. Lucio steers the boat, while Lucilius takes a seat on the desk, back to the banisters. He pulls his knees up to his chest, biding his time. They drive to about the middle of the lake before he hears the engine hum to a stop. 

“It’s been a while since we went out sailing together,” Lucio says, emerging into the sunlight.

Lucilius doesn’t answer him. Doesn’t look up, either.

“Ten years, I think.”

“Longer.”

“Mm.” Lucio sits next to his brother, his long braid drooping over the banister. Lucilius has no place to retreat to, so he folds himself up tighter. Neither of them say anything for a while.

“Are you going to explain this charade or have you brought me all the way out here to waste my time?” Lucilius snarls.

“No, not at all. I wanted… I just wanted to talk.”

“Then talk. Say your piece and drive me back.”

“You should visit more often.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll attempt to sell me on joining Paradise again and for the ten thousandth time I’m going to refuse. And still you, having a head of stone, are going to try again.”

“You know we’d love to have you…”

“I don’t care for your useless sentiments. I won’t be your pet.”

“ _Partners_. We’d have equal power in the company.”

“You want to delude yourself with wordplay, that’s on you. Leave me out of it. My resume isn’t going anywhere near Paradise, not even to work in the mailroom.”

“Your talents—”

“My same talents that you implied are wasted in my current position?” Lucilius challenges, eyes flaring. 

“Not wasted, no.”

“So what are you trying to say? That I should drop my entire career and go with you? I can be the little brother working for the big to-be CEO, doesn’t that sound thrilling?”

“Your boyfriend’s right. People usually go into the medical field because they want to save— cure a disease, or help people with their everyday maladies. He said he quit being an EMT because he liked music more, but I don’t think that’s the real reason. If it isn’t because he’s not good at medicine, then it’s probably a lack of something else. You are very, very good in your field, nobody’s denying that. Your work could pave the way to cure quite a few neurological disorders… but I can’t see you caring about that, at all.” Lucio’s full gaze is on him now. “Why did you want to become a doctor then? What inspired you?”

Lucilius bites his tongue.

“I know why I decided to follow Father in leading Paradise— I wanted to help him, help his work. You keep calling it being brainwashed, but I chose this for myself. I know why Lucifer went into law, he never got over taking that trip with Miss Siero and seeing what happens in her line of work. But you… I’m not sure. Maybe it was because you liked reading our science tutor’s old books. Or maybe it was because Father has connections in business and law, but he doesn’t have many in medicine.”

Lucilius says nothing, the barbs already in deep. 

Lucio looks at him, eyes piercing and wide. “Why don’t you like me, Lucilius?”

“Why do you think?” he asks, deflecting.

“I want you to tell me. I don’t remember doing anything wrong, not that far back. Tell me and I’ll remember.”

Where can he even start? “Let’s start out easy. Your blind loyalty is repulsive.”

“To Father? Are… you upset Father gave me the company?”

“I don’t want your stupid company,” Lucilius hisses.

“Then… is it because of,” Lucio gestures to his neck.

“No. That was my fault.” His fault for being so gullible, playing around with his brothers’ games. “I just can’t stand you. I can’t stand any of you.”

“Then leave the family. You can, if you want.”

“Why bother? You’ll just chase me down. I’m stuck here, but the least I can do is _stay away from you_.”

Lucio smiles, confirming his suspicions. “You didn’t answer my question yet. Why don’t you like me?”

Because he never knows when Lucio will stop playing around and readjust his eyesight, like he’s doing right now. He can prick Lucio a thousand times and Lucio will brush it off, but when Lucio hits back, it’s a knife between the bones. Because Lucilius is supposed to be like his brothers, tall and shaped right and he’s none of that. He’ll never be any of that, because even if they were born nearly at the same time with the right chances that didn’t mean a damn thing. Because no matter how bad things get, Lucio decides to remain hopeful where Lucilius has already swallowed it all down.

None of that is Lucio’s fault, and Lucilius knows that. Lucio’s never hated him, and Lucilius knows that too. All Lucio has ever done was be himself, the single dazzling light that makes clear all of Lucilius’ imperfections.

“I hate that you only see things your own way,” Lucilius starts, bitterly, quietly. He thought he would rage more, but beyond that, he’s just tired. “You never understood that we’re not the same, and we’ll never be the same.”

“But you—”

“No,” Lucilius cuts him off before he can start, “we’re not. We never were. I’ll never want the things you want, I’ll never do things the way you do. I’ll never think the way you do. We’re not the same, I learned that early on. You never did.”

Lucio shifts up a little against the railing, measuring him. If Lucilius manages to keep distance through irritation and Lucifer through indifference, then Lucio uses his natural cheerful disposition. People fall for smiles, smiles are a comforting thing. Lucilius has always known his brothers’ tricks. “Are you still upset at Father?”

That’s never going away. He still loathes his father for being distant and pretending like he’s close. Even if he logically understands that the pre-market opens at 4AM, and combined with the commute meant that his father was out of the house before any of them woke up. His position meant commitments, and that required him to stay long hours in the office. Being a single father meant his absence had to be filled with caretakers and tutors. Beyond quitting his job to become a full-time father, there was really nothing he could do. It stung at first, but Lucilius had accepted that. “Not really, no. But there’s you, and your pathetic excuses.”

What he didn’t accept was Lucio. Lucio, the eldest (by a few minutes), had given himself the role of caretaker for his brothers. If Lucio wanted to pretend he was an adult, then that's fine by Lucilius. But Lucio’s optimism, his endless hope meant excuses for their father, excuses for everything from missed dinners to empty performances. Lucio would always come up with _something,_ even if their father never gave excuses of his own. Lucilius had already swallowed the truth, he didn’t need lace and frills to pretend that everything was fine. If the status quo was broken, then see it as broken. Stare right into reality and let it harden around you. Then you can do anything.

Lucio nods, thinking. “So if Lucifer was the eldest, would you have hated him?”

“Lucifer wouldn’t do what you did. Lucifer isn’t you.” Lucifer would manage everything, keep his mouth shut until the burden was too much. Even then, he’d say that he could still carry the weight on his back, until someone took it from him or it crushed him. He always did prefer suffering in silence.

“You know why I do the things that I do, right?”

“Of course. That doesn’t make it right. Pretending like Paradise is the only option for me— have you ever thought that I might be perfectly content working in my lab? You wouldn’t, because all you care about is family and sticking together.” There is no picking up the pieces once they’ve been shattered.

“And you don’t?”

“You won’t stop doing the things I hate.”

Lucio smiles, sadly. “Some people just don’t get along.” Lucilius prepares a blade to end it all, but then Lucio hugs him. His light cologne stings Lucilius’ nose, and his long hair prickles his neck. Lucilius freezes up. He doesn’t expect to feel anything, but Lucio is holding him through his skin and muscles right to his bones, squeezing hard.

“But we _are_ family,” Lucio says, like he hadn’t just vivisected Lucilius and left his entrails out in the sun. “No matter what, it’s always been the three of us. That won’t change.” He grips a little harder, but not enough to be restrictive. “We’ve always been here for you— I’ve always been here for you.”

Like this, they are on opposite sides of a mirror, two people with the same face. Breath hitched, Lucilius takes Lucio by the shoulders. Lucio gasps so happily, loosening his hold, smiling at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

Lucilius looks at his brother, says, “Sometimes it’s too late,” and shoves Lucio off the boat.

He’d drive away, but the boat controllers are useless buttons to him. The shore’s not too far. He hears Lucio surface, yelling his name, and looks into the water. He sucks in a deep breath, and jumps. 

The water swallows him up brutally, cold and unforgiving even in the warm weather. Up is where the light is, and he forces energy into his legs, kicking desperately until he breaks through the surface. West is where land is. The waves pulse around him and don’t take him where he wants to go. He keeps pushing forward anyway. 

Chest heaving, he drags himself onto the sandy shore. The cold molds around his bones, and it’s not warm even under the sun. His shoes are useless pools of water, and he peels them off. Sand and dirt clings to the soles of his feet, but he’s so tired. He doesn’t care. 

He’s making his way towards the figure of the mansion when through the woods he hears, “Whoa, what happened to you?”

Lucilius would glare harder at Belial, but he can’t muster up the energy. “What are you doing here?”

Belial jerks a thumb behind him. “Hit on Lucifer too hard, and Sandy got mad. The kid’s a goddamn gazelle even in those heels, but he can’t find me in here. You though… you look terrible. Still, I can’t say I don’t enjoy the view.”

Lucilius remembers that he’s wearing a white shirt, and he knows where Belial’s eyes are going. “Don’t you have better things to do than breathe in my direction?”

“Your insults are fanservice to me too.”

Let him have his fantasies, Lucilius is too tired to care. He continues trudging up the incline, and he can hear Belial following him. “So what happened?”

“Lucio and I had an argument.”

“In the water?”

“I pushed him off the boat.”

“You drowned him?”

“Hardly. The twins were nearby. They’ll fish him out.”

Belial laughs. “Alright. But then there’s you.” He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over Lucilius’ shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you changed.”

 

* * *

 

Lucio adjusts the towel on his head. Lucilius has already blowdried his hair, but it’s all frizzy and not behaving. Neither of them speak to each other at the dinner table. Lucifer is looking between his brothers, already aware of what happened. He looks wounded, even considering he wasn’t there. He always does that. 

Maybe there was conversation, maybe there wasn’t. Lucilius isn’t really paying attention. He’s on autopilot now, answering questions and talking enough but not saying anything. He can get through the evening. He’s done it before.

It’s already late in the evening when Sandalphon feels in his pockets and grows quiet. He pats them again, then his back pockets, all along his hoodie, face growing pale. “Oh sh—” Then he catches Lucifer’s gaze. “Uh, I mean…”

“I’ve heard worse,” Lucifer assures him, putting down his coffee. “What’s wrong?”

Belial taps the ashes out of his cigarette. “Lost your keys? How careless.”

“You.” Sandalphon whirls around. “You did this.”

“Blaming me for your problems, Sandy?” Belial shakes his head, cigarette stuck between his grin. “You shouldn’t be so careless to lose track of your keys. Especially if you only have one pair.”

“And how did you know I only have one pair?”

“It’s fine, I can drive you. You can stay at my apartment for the night—” Lucifer suggests, but Sandalphon is already past fury. 

He grabs Belial by the collar, snarling, “Where are they? I’ll give you ten seconds.”

“Careful! Your street talk is slipping out. Class, class.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s not like they’re walking away right now. Why don’t you go looking? But it is a pretty big house, and we were outdoors all day…”

Sandalphon lets go, shoving Belial so hard the couch rattles when he falls into it. Still storming, he stomps out of the room. 

“Would you leash your pet better?” Lucilius snips.

Lucifer gives his brother a look, then frowns at Belial. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

Belial grinds out the last of his cigarette, as if nothing had happened. “Do what?”

“Tease Sandalphon so much.”

“Don’t you think you’re going to need proof before accusing me?”

Lucifer sighs, tilting his head back. “I should’ve expected this.”

Much to Lucilius’ displeasure, Sandalphon does return, eerily calm. When Lucifer asks if he’s alright, Sandalphon shrugs, anger having evaporated. “I asked one of the staff to keep a lookout for it, and to pass the message along. It’ll turn up.”

Something wrong, but Lucilius isn’t sure exactly what.

Belial waits for Lucilius to finish his second slice of cake before suggesting to leave. It doesn’t have to do with the time, but it has plenty to do with how obnoxiously saccharine Lucifer and Sandalphon are. There’s only so much both of them can take.

As Belial goes to fetch the bike, Lucifer guides Lucilius aside. “Is everything alright?” he asks.

“The cake tasted fine.”

“With you and Lucio.”

Lucilius chews his cheek. Lucifer always had an inkling of what's going on in their feud, even if neither of them give him any details. “Lucio’s even more of a parasite than usual.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.”

“I see…” Lucifer says, understanding. That his brother was lying. He curls an arm around Lucilius’ head, guiding him into the crook of his neck. Serene, the way Lucifer always is. “I’ll talk to him. Next time it’ll be better, okay?” 

Lucilius doesn’t say anything. Whatever he says would be a promise, and Lucifer is good at keeping his promises. And gets very upset when they’re broken. 

Belial’s loud string of curses breaks the silence between them. Him cursing is no surprise, but he sounds livid. Lucilius goes to ask what’s going on, but then he sees for himself. To say the tires on Belial’s motorcycle have been slashed is a bit of an understatement; they’ve been gutted. Rubber is peeling off the inner tube, lying in strips on the garage floor. There’s no possible way that would be able to carry them anywhere.

“What a shame,” says Sandalphon from behind them. He sips his coffee, unbothered. “You shouldn’t be careless enough to lose track of important things.”

Belial’s mouth twitches. He’s still smiling, but it’s strained along the edges. When he turns to Sandalphon, his eyes are pure murder. “Sandy, you’re barking a little too much, aren’t you? If you pull something like this, someone’s going to have to put you down.”

“You don’t like when people hit you back, huh?”

“Oh, I don’t mind. But a punch is one thing. This, you’re looking to get filleted.”

Sandalphon stands firm, fangs showing. “Then try it.”

Lucifer steps between the two, pushing them apart. “Both of you, I’m sure we can think of something,” he says, lawyer logic already in action. “Belial, I’m sure your insurance can cover your charges. There’s a repair shop right nearby, and we can have someone come over first thing in the morning. And Sandalphon, you can stay with me for the night. I’ll drive you to work tomorrow.”

Belial’s eyes don’t leave Sandalphon’s, not for a second. “Well that’s all good and fine, but that doesn’t solve the problem right now, does it?” 

“For once we agree with each other,” Sandalphon is equally unmoving. “Something has to be done.”

The fire between them is raging so much that everyone fails to notice the growing cold spot in the room. 

Lucilius looks at the mess on the floor, their only mode of transport ruined. Belial loves that thing, and he’s not risking leaving it where he can’t keep an eye on it. If Lucilius calls a car, it would take more effort to get Belial to come with him. The best option would be…

“How terrible!” Lucio comes in behind them, gasping at the scene. “What happened?”

Gran kneels by the bike, picking up what once was a tire, muttering, “Wow,” under his breath. “This needs a repair as soon as possible.”

“Yes, exactly,” Lucifer says, but doesn’t budge from being a human shield. “Lucio, we can just call a repair person in the morning, can’t we?”

Lucio draws a finger across his chin, thinking. “That shouldn’t be a problem. But what to do in the meantime.” An idea strikes him, and he brightens, clapping his hands. “I know! We have plenty of space, and Father won’t mind. Why don’t we all stay the night here?”

In this house. This place. Again. For a night. A whole night. 

“I’ll tell the staff to get your old rooms ready. It’ll be perfect!”

Lucilius’ anger implodes, the death of a star and the cold that remains. It swallows up everything, quick as a hurricane, deep and treacherous. “You. _You._ This is all your fault.”

“Guess we got a little carried away, huh?” Belial says, immune to void right in front of him. 

Lucilius’ anger is beyond words, and Belial picks up on that fast. Belial laughs, hands up in a pathetic attempt to pacify. Then he sees that Sandalphon has already taken off running, and decides that he’s not going to be the one left behind. 

 

* * *

 

Lucilius’ old room has been prepared for the night— Lucio insisted he stay, all too happily. He thinks that by being all under one roof again, they can regain some semblance of being a family again. Lucio’s always been an idiot.

“So this is your old room, huh? You had this huge place all to yourself as a kid? Is that a queen sized bed? I’m jealous.”

He doesn’t feel like wringing Belial’s neck anymore. If he tried, Belial would probably enjoy it anyway. He’d walk away, but Belial’s the closest thing he has to an ally in this godforsaken house.

Belial’s hand slips on his shoulder, and Lucilius bats it away. “You will not touch me. However. If Lucio comes by, you can make all the obscene noises you want.”

“Make it sound like we’re fucking on the bed, got it."

Everything is exactly how it was when he left it, except tidier. The papers he had haphazardly, at least to anyone who didn’t know any better, spread all over his desk have been clipped and filed to the side. 

He used to sit at his desk for hours, reviewing his cram school notes and poring over the college textbooks everyone said were too advanced for him. The small lamp he kept clipped to the side of his desk was still in place, his old accomplice that shed enough light to illuminate a book, but not enough to indicate to anyone in the hall that he wasn’t sleeping. Bulletin boards with old notes tacked to them, a calendar from a year long passed, and a small paper crane that Lucifer had made for him. The glow-in-the-dark stars he glued to his ceiling are still there, still watching. 

“I’ve got to say, your room looks like a furniture showroom layout, just messier.”

“What does that mean? This looks lived in.” Once lived in.

“No family photos? Posters?”

He jabs a finger at the extended periodic table on the wall next to his old bed.

“Besides that. It’s all work-work-work.” Belial is crouching by one of his bookcases, scanning the titles. Some of the mass markets had already started to yellow. “No CDs either, damn.”

Lucilius was never one to collect many personal items of his own. Books, maybe, but he was constantly replenishing his library. He used to keep a family photo on his desk, once. He didn’t put it there himself, one day it had shown up, likely planted by his father. 

Then again, “You don’t have many posters up either.” And he hasn’t seen any printed photos of Belial in the apartment at all, at least none that could be any more than seven years old. Their apartment looks lived in, but the only proof that Belial had something close to a childhood was his college diploma tucked away in a folder. Lucilius hasn’t even been able to find a birth certificate. 

“You got me,” Belial hums, fingers drumming along the book spines. “You’ve got a lot of test prep books.”

He really should tell Lucio to throw those out, it’s not like he’s going to apply to college again. “Is that a surprise?”

“I’m not. But I get it.” Belial’s looking at the books, knowingly. That’s not a bluff.

Lucilius’ room looks sterile, a relic, a time capsule that Lucio’s furnished to not look like a cage. Lucilius holds a tiny whiteboard with some old notations on it, doesn’t read it and doesn’t move.

Belial’s already made himself comfortable on the bed, flipping through some of Lucilius’ old notebooks. “You really hate this place, don’t you?” When Lucilius looks at him, Belial adds, “You’re doing that thing again, pinching your shoulders, making yourself smaller.”

Lucilius tolerates Belial because Belial’s not nearly as stupid as he pretends to be, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it when he’s the specimen under the microscope. “And what about you?” He snaps, fury flaring, “How did you make it that far, med school only to drop out?”

Belial hums. “Maybe I’m just a genius.”

“ _Genius_. You think there’s a genius that can get by on talent alone? All genius is comes down to an early boost. It’s worthless unless you exercise it.”

“Oh, it was all easy.”

“Yes, I’m sure. You came so far with genius and natural luck, hm? Life must be so easy for someone without funds behind them.”

“How do you know?” Belial purrs. “Maybe I’m a secret heir, just like you. I’ve got a small fortune, and am doing music just for fun.”

“I doubt it.” 

When Lucilius cornered Sandalphon in a fit of fury earlier, demanding to know what justified such thoughtless actions, Sandalphon hissed that Lucilius wouldn’t understand. Not everyone could just buy a replacement when they lost something. “People steal all the time, and you get used to it. It happens. But when someone waves what they stole right in front of you, then you need to hit them back. If people think you’re free game, then you’ll get trampled over. And your godawful boyfriend? He knows this, and if he knows that, then he came from the same place I did.”

Belial’s not comfortable enough with this sort of wealth to come from the same social status as Lucilius. He’s seen Belial’s bank statements, his spending habits, the kind of things he gravitates towards.

“You don’t think I’m smart?”

“I think you’re comfortable with these,” he waves his hand over the test prep bookshelves. “How many did you use?”

Belial smiles. “Enough.”

He thought so. 

“Like you said, genius is only worth something if it’s tended to. I worked pretty hard, you know? I just make it look easy. I still had a knack for it, just that medicine wasn’t for me. But… it makes people pretty mad when you tell them that you did what they did with little effort. Especially the people who think name means everything.”

Rotten to the core. How amusing.

Belial leers at Lucilius. “You know, if I stuck with the med track, who knows? We could’ve been colleagues.”

The thought is an icicle through Lucilius’ brain. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, it’s possible. Maybe I could’ve liked neuro. Maybe I could’ve applied to your lab. I looked pretty good in my white coat, and I’ve got a killer resume, there’s no way you wouldn’t want to hire me. Then we could hook up in your office! I’d give you amazing oral under your desk.”

Lucilius feels ill. 

“But you know,” Belial stretches out, putting his hands under his head. “It wasn’t my thing. And now I’m doing something that _is_ my thing. Just like you’re doing something that’s your thing. It all works out.”

“You’re the exact opposite of my brother.”

“Thank you.” Belial pauses, thinking. “Did he say something to you?”

“Lucio thinks that the only reason I went into science was to spite him and Father.”

“So little Faa-san decided to go into something that dad and big brother had no connections in, huh? Nice. Is it true?”

Lucilius doesn’t speak. He swallows around the answer, when—

“Eh, I guess it doesn’t matter. You’re good at it, aren’t you? If they don’t have hooks in your field, then you’re untouchable. They can try all they want, you’ve already flipped them off.”

“And did they try,” he grumbles. 

Belial perks up from the bed, eyes trained on Lucilius. “Is that right?” he asks, already having sunk his fangs into the sliver of truth Lucilius accidentally let slip.

Lucilius lets his face go flat. He’s not making the mistake of giving Belial any more information than necessary a second time. “Pretend you don’t know me, you’ve never spoken to me. We’re at university together, except I’m a few years younger than you.”

“I’d think you were pretty cute.” At Lucilius’ glare, Belial expands to, “A genius, probably. Or a professor’s kid.”

“And what would you think when you found out I was a Bahamut?”

“I’d think you were another trust fund baby. Paid your way in, just like they all do.”

“And your opinion wouldn’t change if you saw that the great Mr. Bahamut donated a lot, enough that they’re finally refurnishing the old labs. The new Bahamut Life Sciences building.”

“Yeah, no way. Everyone knows that’s the easy way to get accepted— no university is going to say no to money.”

“Exactly. That what you’d think. That’s what anyone would think.” Lucilius laughs, no humor behind it. “My family doesn’t have many contacts in the sciences, so Father couldn’t help me there. But he tried to help in what way he could. He should’ve just kept writing tuition checks.”

Even when he aced tests, people accused him of paying off the professors. Of bribing his way to the top of the class rankings in med school. Even when his father had stopped donating money, Lucilius’ last name still haunted him; accusations that he only got his residency through connections, and even now, he hears whispers that he’s just a figurehead of the lab. He believes in himself, perfectly, supremely, but he knows all it takes are a few lies and rumors to put cracks in his foundation. Credibility is such a transient thing. Pathetic.

Belial looks at him quietly, sharp fangs picking meat to bits. “People still do that to you now, don’t they?”

“They see something slightly away from normal and think it’s all a lie.” Lucilius huffs, parking his chin on his palm. “About a year ago, another presenter at a conference insinuated that I was stealing work to put under my own name. Or that I seduced my way to my position.”

“He said that to your face?”

“He wasn’t that stupid. But he said it, and I heard it.”

“So show them,” Belial says, eyes big and glowing, saying that Lucilius’ pain was also his. “Prove them all wrong.”

“I have.” It’s the truth. He’s built his work up so perfectly that only a fool could deny it. But the rabble still likes to scratch, and sometimes he can’t ignore when a hangnail ends up slicing skin. 

“Annoying, isn’t it?”

“Like a mosquito bite.” 

Belial hums, amused. Full. “I’m more surprised you didn’t do anything to that guy. People like that, once they start talking, they think it’s cute to keep talking.”

“I don’t have to worry about him. He was behaving very erratically at another conference— it got so out of hand that they needed to call security. I suppose whatever he took made him believe that the guards were equipped with flowers and not nightsticks. Made a terrible fool of himself. Chemical habits are a terrible thing.”

Belial grins. “Karma’s a bitch. Well, I like you the way you are. Finance Faa-san and law Faa-san are pretty hot, but they’re not you. Shame, I’d bet you’d look absolutely banging in a suit.”

“You know I wear suits to conferences.”

“But you haven’t gone to one since we started dating, so suit Faa-san is just a myth. A sexy myth.”

Lucilius rolls his eyes, drumming his fingers along the edges of the whiteboard. His anger still simmers, but he no longer feels it as strongly. 

“So, you want to fuck on your childhood bed? We can turn off the lights so you can look at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.”

Lucilius snaps the whiteboard in half. 

“Hot damn, Faa-san. Snap me in half.”

Oh, he will, he certainly will, but before he can say anything, he hears voices in the hall. Lucio talking with one of the staff. 

Belial startles him with a guttural moan. He jerks his body, making the bed bang against the wall. If it wasn’t so properly timed, Lucilius might have thought he was having a seizure. He groans and writhes, face flushed but his grin is all mischief. 

Lucilius is frozen in his chair. His mind knows what’s going on, but his body refuses to move. If he does, he’d end up closer to that carnal performance.

“You have to moan too,” Belial whispers.

“ _No_.”

“At least sound like you’re holding back pain.” Belial quietly says before yelling, “Faa-san, Faa-san!”

It isn’t very hard for Lucilius to grind his teeth together and groan in pain with what he has to put up with right now.

Belial sounds like he’s being punched in the stomach, choking out guttural sounds at his peak. He flops down onto the mattress, making sure to give it an additional bounce. “That was amazing,” he hums, throaty and breathless. 

“Shut. Up.”

Belial shoots him a thumbs up. This must be what wanting to die feels like.

Lucilius cranes his neck towards the hall. Nothing. If Lucio was still in the hall, he’d have to be frozen in place. Or had run as soon as he heard it. 

“Mission success?” Belial asks, as if he hadn’t  just pretended his organs were being vacuumed out through his crotch. “Or is your brother also a voyeur?”

Lucilius isn’t going into the hallway to find out. He slumps down in his chair, sighing. Belial swivels himself up off the bed, crouches down by the door, pressing his ear to the wood. He swings the door open and vanishes. Half a minute later he comes back, and Lucilius doesn’t need a report to know that Belial didn’t find anything of interest.

Belial looks like he’s going to say something, but a look from Lucilius cuts him off. “Oh come on. I think you did pretty great.”

Lucilius doesn’t say anything.

“You’re mad that I actually did it?”

Lucilius looks at him, saying it all. 

Belial shrugs, shaking off the blows. “Just think of how uncomfortable your brother will be in the morning. No eye contact, avoiding conversation, all that good stuff.”

Lucilius grunts an assent to that, and Belial slides in, kneeling by Lucilius’ chair, head parked on his thighs. “No ‘good job’ for me?”

Getting to his feet, Lucilius knocks Belial off, grabs his pajamas, and storms out. 

Like everything else in this horrible house, everything is too large. The bathtubs were too big when Lucilius was a child, and even though he’s grown, there’s enough room for three of him. The cleaning staff have prepared bath salts, which he puts to the side, letting the heat of the bath do all the work. He doesn’t look around until he’s sure that the massive mirror that stretches across the bathroom has completely fogged up. He’s always hated mirrors. They remind him of how different, how imperfect he is. He hates this house for reminding him of things he’d rather ignore. 

By the time he returns, Belial has changed— no surprise, he usually showers in the morning, but this time he’s flushed and breathless. 

“Are you done?” he sighs. 

“Sure am,” Belial presents the proof of his efforts. “This should work well enough. ”

Ugh. Disgusting. “And what’s the meaning of _that_? Why would you save it?”

“We were supposed to be having a good time, and we’re both reasonable— of course we’d use protection. So in that case,” Belial dangles the used condom before tossing it into the trash.

Lucilius scoffs, his face contorting in a sneer. “It looks like you found material, even here.”

“Of course. I had all that I need.”

He hasn’t looked through Belial’s phone before, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he has a folder of pornographic sites bookmarked. “Father is going to be thrilled to see you ruining his traffic, I’m sure.”

“I don’t have to go through all of that. I can just think of you.”

Someone must have dumped a bucket of ice water all over Lucilius. His muscles all tense up, joints petrified. 

Belial blinks at him. “Why are you so surprised? What were you expecting me to get off to?”

“Pornography…?” Lucilius’ voice is thinner than a reed.

“No, no.” Belial waves him off. “Videos are convenient, yeah, but I don’t know any of those people. All that stuff is just a fantasy. They may be doing some hot stuff, but it’s just a springboard— and I’ve got you, don’t I?” Belial slithers close, utterly satisfied. “Other people, those images get them going; so they can slip into those actors’ roles, get it on with the hot person on the screen. Me? I’m having sex with you.”

His bones are locked in place, but then comes the panic, a thousand centipedes crawling across his body. “That’s repulsive. Completely disgusting. You’d dare—”

“Dare? I shouldn’t be fantasizing about my boyfriend? I’m not doing anything to you in real life, but imagination is free game.”

Lucilius is struck speechless. Mechanically comes, “Forget it.”

“Aww, are you embarrassed?”

“I said. Forget it.”

Lucilius climbs into bed and pulls the covers right over him, blocking out the centipede prickles with suffocating fabric. The bed dips as Belial climbs in after him.

“Stay away from me.”

“Oh come on. I washed my hands.”

Belial stays on his side and only bothers Lucilius once; he mistakes Lucilius being still for being asleep. Lucilius feels Belial’s hand on his cheek, warm and light, for just a moment— and then Belial turns away and doesn’t move.

His bed is supposed to be cold and hollow. It isn’t anymore.

 

* * *

 

“It’s not going to be enough.”

Lucilius pauses in buttoning up his shirt. “What isn’t?”

“My evidence from last night. I thought it over, and I don’t think just that is going to convince anyone.”

He still can’t believe Belial went that far, what more could there possibly be? “Explain yourself.”

“Lie down on the bed and I’ll show you.” When Lucilius glares icicles at Belial, he adds, “It’s worth it, okay?”

Lucilius’ mouth twitches, and he slowly lies down, stiff as a corpse. 

Belial arches over him. “Sex is pretty messy, you know. A lot of friction, a lot of sweat, and most importantly, fluids. Let’s say we’re going at it, having a real good time. That’ll show, right?” 

Lucilius frowns, urging him to get to the point already.

“So keep that in mind.” Belial’s finger marks a wide area around Lucilius’ hips. “Just like this, fluids might get as far as here. If one of us is on our backs and turns, this area will get bigger. And that’s just if we’re in the same place on the bed. What if we decide to get a little adventurous?” Belial pulls Lucilius up, grinning wickedly. “We need to make things look convincing.”

“You are not putrefying my room.”

“Lucio would have figured us out day one if he hadn’t fallen for your lies. You think he’ll just be satisfied with just what’s in the trash can?”

Lucilius sighs. Lucio is fairly distant when it comes to the majority of humanity, but he pulls his family close and doesn’t let go. He’s getting a little used to Belial, but Lucilius can always feel Lucio watching him, waiting to see if something will go wrong. His intuition is probably telling him that Belial is pushing Lucilius into something he doesn’t want to do, even if his logic is telling him that Lucilius would castrate Belial is he as much as tried. Lucio would be half right, with Belial meeting him with a vice-grip on Lucilius’ throat. Except by now, Lucilius has found his fingers on Belial’s throat as well. Their lie is threaded between them, a string figure that can only be shaped by two. 

“...Do what you have to do. In the bathroom.”

“Yes, sir.” Belial flits around the bed, mentally marking off any choice spots. “Faa-san, you think I could’ve hit one of the ceiling stars?”

“What on _earth_ would we be doing that any residue would get on the ceiling? Copulating on a ladder?”

Belial’s eyes sparkle. “Do you think—”

“No.”

“Alright. Walls it is.” Satisfied, he heads over to the bathroom to get his work done. 

Lucilius pulls out all the bills in his wallet and leaves them on the desk. The cleaning staff get paid fairly well, but they don’t get paid enough to deal with this.

 

* * *

 

Next dinner, Lucio avoids eye contact with Lucilius the entire day.

He may have sacrificed some of his dignity, but this reward was worth it. 


	4. Children of Fear

_ >This hairstyle looks really good on Iss! _

_ >They can do whatever they want, but if Az cuts her hair short I’m gonna lose it! _

_ >Her sweater 💖 she looks cute covering her stomach _

_ >Out shopping today! Caught at the mall on (*****) _

_(Inserted is a picture of Belial, sunglasses on, paying for clothes in a boutique. He is in casual clothes, and doesn’t seem to realize he’s being photographed. It’s slightly blurry, clearly taken from a phone camera instead of from a pro’s.)_

_ >Is he even real? I’m literally speechless _

_ >Wow hot 🔥 _

_ >HIS WAIST _

_ >Wait wait those clothes don’t come in large. No way he’s fitting into those…  _

_ >Maybe he’s out shopping for a special someone? _

_ >WHAT I’m dying 💔 _

_ >You mean his newest one night stand lol  
_

_ >You buy clothes for your one night stands? _

_ >Why can’t that be me!! _

 

 

“Everyone!” Az calls out, rousing the murmuring crowd into an uproar. The rings on her fingers glimmer like stars under the spotlight. “We have a treat for you! Something big— something new!”

This one isn’t on _Seven Trumpets_. Not on anywhere, with the exception of a couple of studio recordings. Now the beast is going to be let out in front of this massive crowd. They’ve been prepared. Belial knows, because he’s watched everyone work until every string plucked and key pressed was in perfect sync.

They plunge straight into the number. 

It starts out softer than their usual fare, an intoxicating slowness. Harsh, but still complacent. Waiting. Then comes the surge, all darks and reds. He shouts into the microphone, and the bass answers back. The drums, low and constant and terrible, and the keyboard going mad. Louder, more wild, clawing higher and showing its fangs, breaking through the usual constraints. His throat is tight and his heart is burning wild, and the audience is with him. He is the lead, sweeping them up into an abyss they don’t know, but he’ll make them step up that climb until their feet are bleeding, turn them towards the dark sun in the sky. He demands they look at what’s burning him away, and to know that he will let it consume all of them too.

The piece ends. The worship is over, and they all must trudge their way back to what’s supposedly right. Now come the screams, the thunderous applause. They are enraptured for just a moment longer. Even if they don’t know the sun, they’ve seen it, for just one moment. 

Backstage is a different kind of rush, more of blood cooling down as the blinding lights fade and they’re ushered past congratulations and well wishes. Into the privacy of dressing rooms, where the cheers of fans are far away from them all. Exhaustion doesn’t catch up to Belial until he’s sitting down on one of the couches. His hands are still shaking, adrenaline making his nerves jump.  

“Someone undo this thing, please!” Iss bounces on her heels, gesturing to her corset. “How did people wear these all the time 200 years ago?”

“Olivia could probably help you with that,” he says, wiping his face with a towel. Between the intensity, the blaring lights, and the fervor of it all, he’s dripping with sweat. He wouldn’t mind standing in front of a fan for ten minutes.

“She’s not here yet, and I can barely breathe. Someone, get me out of this!”

Avatar leans over to undo the strings keeping it tight, and she breathes a sigh of relief. 

It doesn’t take Belial very long to change, but the girls with their corsets and big dresses and Bubs with all his jewelry take much longer. By the time the costume department has their outfits back on racks and they’re in clothes that they can move in once again, Olivia walks in with a platter of sandwiches and a cooler of beer. 

Olivia always dresses professional for these kinds of events, even if her real tastes lie on the side of punk. Her slender black top and long skirt fit her well today. Those shoes are pointed enough to kill a man, and that fits her even better. She’s firm but sweet when she says, “Good job out there. I have some treats to recharge.”

They all chorus a thank you, with Avatar doing his usual bow in place of it. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” Az chirps, wasting no time in prying the lid off and biting into one. The girl’s as skinny as a rake and can out-eat a pro athlete.

“How was the turnout?” Bubs asks, all business. Belial may be the front of the band, but all the numbers and plans go through Bubs. Not even fifteen minutes and he’s already ready to make his predictions.

Olivia picks up on that quick. “We can discuss that later. The venue doesn’t send us the proper numbers until 24 hours have passed.”

Bubs clicks his tongue. There’s no strong-arming Olivia. 

“I’ll buy you all some time but remember, ten minutes until the meet-and-greet.”

Ugh, right. As social as Belial and Az are, the rest of them need their recharging period. One meet and greet every three shows is the deal they’ve worked out, and this show’s a multiple of three. “And I just got to breathe too,” Iss groans.

“We’ll take care of it!” Az promises, all chipper. Half of her sandwich is gone. That girl’s truly a mystery.

Olivia smiles, and leaves them to it. She’s a good agent, the best they’ve had so far. Knows how to balance structure and attentiveness. Once she’s gone, they all sit back and relax. Just because Olivia’s good doesn’t mean they don’t have perform in front of her too. 

“That went better than I thought it would,” Bubs says, echoing what they’re all thinking. Debuting a song in a concert is risky. There’s no sales data, no streaming records, no proof that what they put out is what people want. It could be a flop.

“They ate it up,” Belial hums, cracking open a beer.

Avatar waves his open hand back and forth by his chest, presses two fingers into his palm, switching them around, and then breaks a cross with his fingers. 

“Come on, you’re exaggerating.”

He shakes his head and breaks the cross with his fingers again.

“No, he’s right,” Iss says. “The lyrics and everything— the meaning’s different.”

“I think it sounds like the songs we did for _Darkherald_ ,” Az chirps. 

“And even those were different.” Bubs is harsh, as always. “Something’s changed with our recent stuff. _Darkherald_ and _Seven Trumpets_ don’t work the same, at all.”

Bubs is a nag, but he is unusually perceptive. “Aw, Bubs, is that a complaint? You agreed to my lyrics, same with the rest of us.”

“I didn’t say it’s bad. But it is a change.”

Belial shrugs, and the conversation ends there.

“Why don’t you bring your boyfriend?” Az asks between bites of her second sandwich. “He can come backstage if he wants. We can give him front row seats too, as long as you tell Azazel beforehand.”

It would be nice, and he’d love to show off, but Lucilius would set foot in a concert venue when he’s a corpse. Belial knows he’s lost that battle before he even suggested it. “Eh, I don’t think it would work out.”

“Why? You met Hal and Mal. And Avatar’s brother.”

“It just wouldn’t work out, that’s all.”

“He’s faking it. We all know he doesn’t actually have a boyfriend.” Bubs says. Avatar nods in agreement.

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Belial crumples up the sandwich wax paper and tosses it into the trash. “He is real, thank you very much. He’s just not interested in this kind of thing. Says it’s a waste of time.”

“Ohhh,” Az says, bobbing her head. “So he’s kind of an asshole.”

“Your words do not match your face, anyone ever tell you that?”

“No, that makes perfect sense,” Bubs puts a finger to his chin, as if he’s figuring it all out. “He’d have to be, to be in a relationship with this guy.”

“Love you too, Bubs.”

A knock on the door, Olivia again. “We’re sending the meet and greet guests in!” Show time. 

Olivia opens the door, and the first guest comes in, head turning this way and that, trying to get the whole room in at once. “So this is what backstage looks like.”

Belial’s blood chills. He knows that voice. 

Sure enough, it’s Gran, dressed in a bomber jacket and sweatpants. His sneakers look nice enough to cost a decent amount in stores, but they’re even better for running. 

“Where’s the other one?” Belial dryly asks. 

“Coming. Aaand, there they are.”

Djeeta’s also dressed sporty like her brother, but the cleats at the bottom of her shoes can tear up more than just gravel. Her arm’s locked in someone else’s, and the advantage is all hers. “Sorry, we had to tackle him.” She knocks her companion’s hood off his head, and there flustered and bristling, is Sandalphon. 

He starts to say something, but Olivia’s rattling off introductions, and Az is first up. “Hello! I’m Az!” Az, always friendly, clasps Gran and Djeeta’s hands. Sandalphon’s arms are crossed, and he’s locked up tight. “Nice to meet you!”

Iss steps up to follow Az’s lead when Belial blurts out, “What are you doing here?”

Gran flips up his phone, screen out, eyes big and innocent. “Meet and greet. We won.”

“All three of you?”

“Why not?” Djeeta’s voice is sweet but on the side of challenging.

“You know them?” Bubs asks, a little short of toxic.

“Unfortunately,” Belial says through his teeth. “Family friends.”

“You have a family?”

“Not mine. They’re my boyfriend’s brother’s assistants.”

Avatar counts out on his fingers, trying to make sense of it.

“Oyoyo?” Az is shimmering in delight.

“Not only are we his boyfriend’s brother’s assistants,” Djeeta announces, “But we are also your fans. It's so nice to get to meet all of you in person!” She hops over to Iss, shaking her hands with the same vigor that Az gave her. 

“We’re not here to babysit your acquaintances,” Bubs grumbles, turning away, having already lost interest.

Gran, smooth as butter, slides on over to him. “Hi, I’m Gran. Your solo on _Lord of the Flies_? Really good, and mixes well with that anachronistic rebellious tone the piece is all about.”

Bubs grunts, but he’s been placated. 

Avatar offers Sandalphon a handshake, and Sandalphon flinches like the older man just pulled out a gun. He looks at Avatar’s hand for a moment and unravels a little, responding with a handshake still jumpy but polite. 

Belial stares at the scene, his patience thinning. He wants answers, but he’s not going to get them while the band’s still here. “Saaaaandy,” Belial hisses the boy’s name out, coiling his arms around him, one hand on his thigh and the other around his throat. He’s close enough to feel Sandalphon’s shoulders shift with his breaths, smell the coffee lingering on his hair. “Did you come to see me? I’m honored.”

Sandalphon pulls his hand to his hip, preparing his elbow for a strike, before remembering where he was. He settles with pushing his stiletto right into the curve where Belial’s leg meets his foot, hard. “Not you. Not willingly.”

“Unwillingly, then? I’m not really into forcing someone but maybe with the right spot to press, I could change your mind…”

“It hasn’t even been five minutes!” Iss chops Belial on the back of his head. “Give our guests some space!”

The twins are already hanging off Avatar like a duo of amateur mountain climbers. He doesn’t seem that bothered, this isn’t the weirdest thing that fans have done. “Space, huh?” Belial says.

Sandalphon tries to wriggle free, but Belial squeezes even tighter. “Sandy, I know you like it rough, but please be patient.”

“You’re running my patience down right now.”

“Oh? Are you in a hurry? I didn’t know you were into exhibitionism as well.” Belial’s whisper comes close to Sandalphon’s ear. “Not one of my top three kinks, but I’m flexible. Let’s give it a try.”

Sandalphon’s pulse jumps into overdrive as he sees red. Before he can hit, there’s a tap on Belial’s shoulder. Avatar stands there, shakes his head. Belial sighs dramatically and lets go of Sandalphon. 

Metal jangles as Bubs gets to his feet. “Well, since you seem to know _all_ the people on the meet and greet list, you have fun. We’re heading out.” Bubs heads towards the door. “Entertain them on your own.”

“It’s fine. We got to meet all of you, thanks so much!” He can definitely tell Gran works PR. 

“Besides,” Djeeta flops down on the sofa, pulling Belial down with her, soft grip still iron. “We have more alone time with the lead singer here. Right?”

“If they have to disinfect the sofa, Olivia’s going to be really mad, so remember that.” Iss warns as she follows a giggling Az out the door.

“Nothing is going to happen!” Sandalphon growls, firm.

“I don’t know, something could.” Belial hums. 

“Do it. See how fast I’ll castrate you.”

Avatar giving Belial a warning look on the way out. He sighs. He needs better bandmates. 

Well, whatever. They’re alone, just like he wanted. Belial flicks open his pack of cigarettes and lights one up. He likes this venue because they’re lax about stuff like this, understand that the key players need a break once in a while. He inhales the smoke like bitter medicine, holds it for a moment, and blows it out. 

“You’ll get cancer,” Sandalphon says in the way that people do when they don’t share your habits. 

“Worried about me? That’s kind of cute.”

“Actually, die as soon as possible.”

“Well before I die, want to tell me what you’re doing here? This isn’t a place you can just casually wander into if you get lost. Let’s hear it.”

Sandalphon, annoyed, jabs a finger at the twins. “They dragged me here.”

“We did it for you!” Gran insists.

“You showed up at my apartment and pulled me outside! I barely had time to change my clothes!”

“We’re so sorry that we interrupted your lying down on the floor and feeling sad session. You can binge movies in bed and cook microwave dinners some other time.” Djeeta sounds completely unapologetic. 

Gran leans over to Belial and whispers. “Lucifer’s in Kolkata doing research for an upcoming case. He’s not going to be back until next week.”

“I see! Tale of a broken heart, hm?” Belial slides on over to Sandalphon, pushing himself into the boy’s personal space. “Well there’s nothing like a little body contact to ease a troubled mind.”

“Djeeta, how frequently do the trains run out here?”

“Ahh, I’ve been completely ignored. But that’s not important.” He waves his cigarette at the twins. “Don’t think I buy that all three of you just _happened_ to get lucky. You sign up for meet-and-greet individually, and you all got hits?”

“It’s all luck, honest.” Gran’s smile is syrup. “Like a lottery ticket, but better.”

Belial takes a long drag of his cigarette, watching them both. They look back at him, neither the type to budge. If they want to play some games, then that’s fine by him. He’s good at waiting. 

They sit for a few minutes in silence before Djeeta throws her hands up, annoyed. “We rigged it, okay?”

“You rigged it?” He knows the twins have Lucio’s money to burn, but that’s not something that money can easily change. “Now that’s a story I want to hear. How did you pull that off?”

Gran waves his finger. “Our secret.”

“Playing hard to get, huh?”

“Yep!” Gran smiles, undeterred. Belial’s not getting any answers there.

Well, that’s fine, there are other targets. He pinches Sandalphon’s side playfully. “Well, if you’re here, you didn’t just come for the backstage. What did you think of the concert?”

Sandalphon knocks his hand away. “It was alright.”

“Just alright?”

“You didn’t blow my mind if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“He had fun,” Gran happily translates. “We had really good seats. Not standing, but the first row.”

Belial gasps happily, and Sandalphon looks like someone told him to push his face into a bowl of mud. 

“A fan of mine, huh? I’ve got to admit, you have good taste. If you want, I’ll give you an autograph wherever you want. Wallet? Polaroid? Or maybe… the best marks aren’t very visible, you know?”

“It’s kind of amazing how every word out of your mouth makes me want to strangle you more.”

“What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

“Man of many talents who’s got it bad.” Djeeta smirks.

He gives her a subtle warning look, but she keeps smiling regardless. Whatever she knows doesn’t have anything to do with their agreement, and Belial doesn’t like that. 

Sandalphon remains clueless. “What are you two going on about?”

“Belial here,” Djeeta clasps her hands together, “is in love!”

“O…kay. Was he not before?”

“You know how he’s playing hot and cold with Lucilius all the time. Pretending.” Djeeta’s smile is dangerous. “Did you listen to _Seven Trumpets_? The latest album?”

Sandalphon sighs. “Yes. I did.”

“Oh, Sandy!”

“Shut up. What’s your point?”

“Might I direct you to track 8, ‘ _Raving and Groveling_ ’?”

“Yeah, they played that during the show. So?”

Gran has his phone out, tapping and scrolling. “Sometimes even when you listen to a song, you don’t pick up the lyrics. Let’s give this a listen,” and he starts, using his nice poet’s voice to turn the lyrics into words. “Wrapped your chain around my neck, made me yours to command, maybe I wish you'd choke me tighter, maybe I wish you'd hold my hand—”

“Yes, we all know he’s horny.”

The twins look at each other, and Djeeta grumbles, “Okay, let’s pick a more obvious one.”

“‘ _Contradictions_ ’?”

“Yeah, go for it.”

Gran clears his throat. “But how can I resist when you pin me to the wall, with just one look from your eyes, I reach for you, and I fall onto that razor blade you call a smile, pressed against my throat, and I dream of letting you cut me, gut me, just to know the softness of your touch—”

Djeeta joins in. “Track 3, ‘ _Arc of the End_ ’, I’ll sing your gospel through every mouthpiece I can find; yours, mine, let’s collide, I’ll take a knee, you’ll break my spine…”

“Track 7, ‘ _Axiom_ ’, You say love’s just a word, and I say words are just, pieces of you and pieces of me, mixed up in one ceaseless apogee—”

Those are his lyrics; they’ve been approved, proofread, spot-checked, approved again, even gone through Bubs. But somehow, hearing them casually from the twins’ mouths makes Belial want to crawl into a hole. 

“I guess that’s pretty sappy,” Sandalphon concedes. “It’s not like people don’t sing about love songs all the time. I don’t see what you’re trying to—”

“You don’t get it.” Djeeta shakes her head. “Who do you think writes these lyrics? Hint, hint, it’s someone we know pretty well. Sometimes it’s Bubs. But mostly Belial.”

Sandalphon kept his mouth thin at the start, but now it’s broken into a full grin. “Is that right?”

“It’s cute that you’re thinking so hard about my work but mm, I think you’re all reaching.”

“Yeah? How many people fit that description, I wonder.”

“You’re thinking too hard about something that’s all casual.”

“Casual. You and Lucilius. Casual.”

“Of course. I mean, he’s great and all, but let’s face it, one of his prime assets is his body. And his creativity, the wild times we have. It’s not every day that I find someone so stubborn, yet flexible.”

“But you live with him.”

“Come on, Sandy. It’s all physical.”

Sandalphon’s stare doesn’t let up. “But you live with him.”

“Easy access.”

“This is the biggest bullshit I’ve heard all day.”

“Yeah, you know what I do when I’m in a casual relationship?” Djeeta says between bites of stolen sandwich, “Dedicate half my album to them.”

“Aw, that’s cute.” Gran gives him a sweet smile. “Very romantic.”

Belial wants to die.

“Doesn’t Lucilius not listen to your music at all?” Sandaphon asks.

“Yeah, he doesn’t.”

Silence, all three watching him. The quiet is fine, but this sort of attention sews barbed threads of fear through his heart. 

“Is that bar on Main Street still open? The one with the good fries? I need a drink.” Sandalphon shrugs on his jacket, pulling his hood up over his head. 

“Leaving so soon?” Belial’s smile glows, but he can’t wait for the night to be over. “Such low stamina.”

“I hear you usually go out drinking after a concert.” Sandalphon asks, eyes challenging, “Or are you losing your touch?”

A vein throbs in Belial’s head. “Don’t get too cocky, brat.”

 

* * *

 

It’s really no fun when all of them can hold their liquor. The twins can down any glass that’s put in front of them. Sandy, as skinny as he is, doesn’t seem to be having any trouble keeping it together. What a shame, he was going to use the opportunity to loosen a few secrets.

“Well, the fries are amazing,” he admits.

“Best fries in the city.” Gran grabs another handful. 

Good fries and far enough from the concert venue to not run into any fans, but not too far. After concerts, the band’s sometimes too tired to travel far, and the nearest bar is usually filled up with their fans. Performance when he’s just trying to unwind.

This place is half poolroom, half bar. The sit-down booths are all in the same area by the bar, but still spaced a good distance away from each other. A strong blues comes out of the speakers, but it’s dialed down enough to be a hum in the background. This isn’t really a place to party, but for people to talk and not be heard. 

The twins are so different outside of the Bahamut mansion. Around Lucio, they’re playful but business is still business. He doesn’t know exactly how many papers they shuffle around in the main offices, but he knows it’s not all they do. Now they feel their age, whatever number that is. 

Sandalphon’s stiff as ever, but the twins massage some of it out over time. They’re persistent, but they’re the right kind of persistent, knowing exactly when to dive in and when to back off. They’ve been doing this for a while, either from work or practice. 

Sandalphon is cute when he cracks a smile, but it’s only aimed at the twins. Belial opens his mouth, and he’s all walled up again. 

“Ugh, I needed this break.” Djeeta exhales, finishing off her latest shot. “We’ve been running around so much, this is our first free night in a while.” Everyone knows not to ask for details. 

“I don’t really go out much,” Sandalphon quietly admits. “It’s the same old. Go to work, come home, eat, go to sleep. Do it all again.” He presses his cheek to his palm. “I miss Lucifer.” 

“He’ll be back.” Djeeta voice turns warm.

“I know. But he’s travelling all the time. It’s work, I know he can’t help it, but…” Sandalphon drops his shoulders, watching the curves of his glass in the dim light. “I’m always here.”

“Traveling's okay,” Gran admits with a shrug. “But after a while, it’s just routine, if you’re going for work. Lucifer’s always working, he’s not going for fun. Maybe a few dinners, but he’s probably plugged into his laptop constantly.”

“Think he’s going to hook up with a hot stranger abroad?” Belial sneers. “Beautiful foreigner, and then there’s you.”

“No!” Sandalphon snaps. “I never thought that! But when he’s out there, he’s not… here.”

Gran glares at him, but Belial brushes it off. 

“He’s the best thing that happened to me, okay? A giant fuck-up. Next to Lucifer... Lucifer’s too amazing. He’s talented, he’s handsome, he runs a company—”

“Yes, Sandy, Lucifer is amazing. He was trained by Morpheus, Jesus, and Bruce Lee. His skin is made of diamonds and he can do anything. Your sugar daddy’s on top of the world.”

“We’re not like that.”

Belial raises his eyebrows from behind his glass. 

“Like… a sugar daddy.” Sandalphon is red to his ears, spitting out the words like they’re fish bones.

“You sure? He’s rich, you’re broke. He likes giving.”

“Don’t you have a rich boyfriend?” Sandalphon fires back.

“You think Faa-san is going to buy me anything? I’ll be lucky if I get a bowl of instant noodles out of him.”

Sandalphon drops his eyes. “Lucifer tried to get me a car once.”

Belial blinks mutely. “He what?” Gran blankly asks, news to the twins too.

“He told me right before my birthday, and I had to talk him down. What am I supposed to do with a car?”

“Take your man out for a ride?”

Sandalphon flushes. He’s thought about it, a couple of times. “I can’t accept that. If I’m going to get a car, it’ll be because I bought it myself. Even if it’s not as nice as the ones he’s used to.”

“Barista pay’s the bottom of the barrel.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You sure you should be telling me this?”

Sandalphon gives him a sour look. “I’m not some famous musician, so maybe I don’t get why you’re trying to hide it. But I know you get it.”

Belial shrugs, takes another sip.

“Well,” Djeeta drains her last drink, the straw rapping against the edges of her glass. “Everyone’s got their secrets.”

“You okay with this?” Sandalphon asks. 

“Sure. I mean, we know Belial well enough, don’t we? We know where it counts. We know you too.”

Sandalphon sighs, collapsing into his arms on the table. “Sure. You two know me. I know you read my background check.”

“Your what?” Belial snags that.

“You think the great Mr. Bahamut is going to let some nobody minimum wage street punk into his son’s life without being vouched first? Oh no. They ran a full background check on me. Messed up my credit score.”

“To be fair,” Gran says, patting Sandalphon’s head. “Lucifer didn’t want to do it.”

“I know,” Sandalphon says. “I know, people try to take advantage of them all the time. I know it’s a precaution. It still sucks. Now Lucifer knows everything I did. School grades, arrest records, everything. It sucks.”

“We’re not going to tell anyone.”

“Aww, no secrets for me?” Belial bats his eyelashes. “Not even about why you got cuffed by the cops?”

Gran holds up a hand. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “Does it?”

Belial shrugs. “Guess not.”

“We’re all outsiders anyway,” Sandalphon mumbles, “All four of us.”

Belial knows what being an outsider’s like. It’s not about people not knowing his business, it’s about them not caring when they do. “Well, you’ll stay an outsider if all you do is mope and cry.”

“I’m not—“ Sandalphon growls, fangs out.

“Sure you’re not. That’s why you got your spike shield up, and then you wonder why nobody comes close. Lucifer might be a miracle child for sticking his hand right into it.”

He expects Sandalphon to snarl the way he always does, give Belial a good laugh. But he closes his eyes and exhales. “I needed it. For a long while.”

“But,” Djeeta tells him, gentle. “We’re still here. And you found someone.”

Sandalphon nods, but doesn’t say anything. Hard to tell whether he’s too tired to debate her, or the truth is sinking in, harshly but slow. He rubs his eyes, checks his phone. “I should get home. Have the closing shift tomorrow.” 

“We’ll drive you back,” Gran offers. Trains run far too slow after midnight. 

“See you,” Belial hums. He’s staying for a couple more drinks. “What a hard life you have, breaking your heart over one person.”

Sandalphon stops, looks at him straight-on. “You’re so full of shit.”

The three of them leave, and Belial stays. A redheaded girl sees Belial as the only occupant in the booth, and tries her luck. She slides in, shoots him a smile. He listens to her pitch, decides he likes what he hears, just for an hour. 

Outside the bar, in a sleepy corner where nobody is looking, he pushes her up against the brick wall, and there is no pretending to be modest. She kisses him deeply, and he obliges back. She grips his hair hard as they clash together, greedy and quick and dirty. He’s hungry, he’s always starving, and he’ll take what he can get. Voracious, more and more and more until they both collapse. After, when they are spent and breathless, they untangle. She is pretty and there’s nothing wrong with her or them, but Belial feels a discontentment once the thrill has worn off. She smiles and asks him if they’ll see each other again, and as always, he lies and tells her yes. 

This uncomfortable worm of a feeling has been popping up lately; all his recent sexual partners don’t feel right. The sex is fine, but it feels like there’s a wall between his brain and his body. He’s still shaky when he gets on his bike and hits the road. 

The lights are still on in the apartment; maybe Lucilius is still working. He halfway is; he’s on the couch, papers strewn all across the table and some spilling out of his hand where his grip has loosened. His head is against the backrest, like he paused to close his eyes for a second and got lost in sleep. Eve is curled up snoozing on his lap, enjoying his body heat.

He gently puts Eve back in her enclosure, and watches Lucilius for a moment, memorizing the details of a face he’s long committed to memory. He pulls a blanket over Lucilius’ body and carries him to bed.

 

* * *

 

One afternoon, he comes home from his jog to find Lucilius with goggles, a face mask, rubber gloves, and worn work clothes on. He’s just a little short of a full hazmat suit. 

“You’re bringing your work home now? Just don’t keep your petri dishes nearby the food we eat, okay?”

Lucilius scoffs. Belial can’t see him roll his eyes, but he knows he’s doing it. “I’m cleaning the apartment. There’s too much clutter around. Especially your things.”

Belial’s not a messy person, sure sometimes he leaves his clothes on the floor when he comes home wiped, but those are in the hamper by the morning. He wouldn’t ever call the apartment dirty either, the last thing he needs is getting sick when he’s got such a tight schedule. “You’re messier than I am.” Belial picks up a paper from the massive piles that have amassed near the shredder. “Marked July 8th…”

“And that’s why I’m cleaning. Do your part.”

“Is this why you’re going hazmat suit on me? You know, you don’t show a lot of skin and that’s a turn-on, but this is next level. Hm, maybe I can work with this, all we’ll need to do is cut a few holes and—”

Lucilius is a skinny thing, but he knows where to kick to make it hurt. “Clean.” 

Belial sighs, looks at what Lucilius has done. He’s deep-cleaned the bathroom, that’s for sure. The kitchen looks spotless. He wouldn’t be surprised if Lucilius ended up giving both Eve and the mice a scrub. The aforementioned pile of shredding has at least been condensed to one corner, and getting rid of that amount is going to take a few hours. Eve’s enclosure has been cleaned, and she looks very pleased. There’s already a couple of garbage bags by the door, and a pile of clothes on the couch. 

“That’s a pretty big giveaway pile.”

“That’s because a certain someone keeps buying me clothes. My closet is overflowing.”

“Of course I’m going to. You’ve got style. Work it.”

Lucilius pauses in dusting the TV. “I keep getting… bigger.”

“When we first met you were already pretty floofy and ruffly. I’m enhancing what you’ve already got. Less skin the better, right?”

Lucilius sighs, but Belial knows he doesn’t hate it. “There’s still too much.”

Belial feigns a sniffle. “After all the effort I put into choosing these…” He wipes away an imaginary tear, but he can see that Lucilius hasn’t given away everything he’d bought recently. Maybe he has been overdoing it with the gifts lately, but picking these out are so fun. It’s always a good time searching the local bakeries for new treats to satisfy Lucilius’ sweet tooth that he says he doesn’t have, but sometimes he likes something far more permanent. 

Besides the clothes is a collection of books sorted by topic, likely donations to research institutions or libraries. On top of one of them is a box still enclosed in gift wrap, and when Belial carefully opens it, he finds a set of two porcelain soup bowls. “Why are you throwing these out? They’re so nice.”

“That was a move-out present from Lucio. I’ve kept them for long enough.”

“Getting rid of them so soon?”

“You’re right. The faster the better,” Lucilius picks up the box and starts towards the window. 

Belial stops him before he manages to get the window open. “Whoa there. Don’t you think you should think about this a little more?”

“I’m not using anything Lucio gave me.”

“You don’t have to. But there’s someone who can.” 

“You?” Lucilius scoffs.

“Not me. But you know who likes curling up in small places?”

Lucilius follows Belial’s eyes to the reptile enclosure, where Eve is rubbing her stomach on the exit. She wants to come out, but she’ll have to wait. Not while the place is a mess and they can’t supervise her; she’d slither behind a bookcase or under some bags and it’ll take a long time to coax her out. He pries out one of the bowls and layers it in a soft towel, tying it tight so it won’t unfold. When he opens the cage, he bops her on the snout, and puts the bowl inside. Eve lifts her head up, scoping out this new piece of furniture, hovering for a long minute before sticking her head into the soft crevices of the blanket. She’ll be too big to fit all of herself into the bowl, but she does love to explore. “Wouldn’t your brother hate it if a snake used his good plates instead?”

Lucilius watches the scene silently. He’s never objected to giving Eve new things to play with. “Do what you want,” he ends with, but Belial can tell he’s satisfied. 

That should keep Eve occupied for a while until he can play with her properly, but he should probably see if he can clear anything out. 

He’d recently gone through the albums that he keeps in the living room, so all he has is whatever’s in the closet. He also got rid of some of the jackets he didn’t wear as much, and a few pairs of pants are in need or repair. Fashionable tears are one thing, but if they get too big, then that’s just not functional. 

The first of four drawers in the dresser is where he keeps most of his accessories, and he supposes he could give away some of his earrings. He’s not really into the dangling ones anymore, not after one of them got snagged on his comb and caused a world of pain. He doesn’t wear rings much either, sometimes at concerts but not in the day to day. If he leaves them out and Eve finds one, she might choke on it. He has a decent pile once he’s done sorting through them all.

The other three drawers are much harder to sort through; it’s so hard to part with any pieces of his sex toy collection.

“Do you really need three drawers?” Lucilius is behind him, moving an armful of sheets from the linen drawer. He’s always been unamused by Belial’s hobbies. “And can you put your riding crop in the other closet?”

Belial sweeps an arm over them, a showman presenting his prime stars. “Now now, this is my best collection! A perfect mix of eye-pleasing shapes and practicality. Plus, some of these were gifts from fans.”

“Sounds like harassment.”

“Not if they know I’d accept them.” Belial shoots Lucilius a wink. “I’m always on the lookout for new ways of heightening my experiences. No better way than to ask people who have tried the products out themselves.” When Lucilius’ mouth wrinkles into a frown, Belial adds, “They all come sealed and unopened, and I make sure they’re disinfected, once when I get them, and every time after use.”

“Of course you’d use all of them.”

“Well, sure. I’ve had a ton of partners.”

“What, thirty?”

“Mm… maybe 200?”

Lucilius drops the sheets. “Two… hundred?”

“More or less. Well, not all individually. Group projects are fun too.”

“Right,” Lucilius says, and walks out of the room. He left the sheets all over the floor. Belial sighs and continues sorting. 

There’s no real point in keeping things that are less effective. He picks up a couple of boxes, puts them aside. It has been a while since he sorted through these. No point in keeping duplicates, or things that will end up being less durable in the long run. 

He hears Lucilius talking in the living room, but they don’t have any guests. Must be taking a phone call.

Can you donate sex toys? It seems like such a shame to throw them into the trash. Clothes, that he can donate. There’s a small pile of old band T-shirts that never sold, but Lucilius has taken to wearing them as pajamas. Unlike Lucilius’ tailored clothes, these shirts don’t fit him across the shoulders, and sag into his collarbone. It’s rather cute. Belial knows better than to risk his life by saying that aloud. He should keep them, just in case. There’s a pile of books in the bottom of the closet, next to the sewing box. Inspiration material for some of the band’s old albums. 

Lucilius returns, tossing his phone onto the bed. “You’re clean.”

“I shower twice a day and brush my teeth like a good boy.”

“I meant of STDs. Good, because I’d check you into the hospital if you had any.”

How exactly did he find that out? “Faa-san, don’t threaten my doctor.”

“I will threaten whoever I want over whatever issue I please.” He picks up the scattered sheets, grumbling, “Two hundred…” as he gets back to work.

“It’s no fun if you don’t climax together!” Belial yells after him. Maybe he doesn’t need all these old materials. One of the artbooks is all hand-crafted illustrations, limited run. He’ll keep that one, it’s always interesting to look at. A fashion photography book from a well-known photographer, he’ll keep that one too. 

In truth, it doesn’t take him very long to sort through his belongings. His apartment is a fairly decent size, but he doesn’t have many things inside it. He could never bring himself to be a material guy, knowing one day he’d have to pack up and go away. No point in getting attached to things that will just have to be left behind. In the back of a drawer, there’s a small pouch with emergency funds, all the bills still there. Inflation’s gone up over the last few years, he should add a bit more to the stash. In the middle of the nest of bills, a small ant made out of pom-poms and pipe cleaners. One of the googly eyes is falling off, barely attached to the old fuzz. He closes up the pouch. Next to the pouch is a surprise, and Belial’s eyes glitter.

Lucilius is in the kitchen, begrudgingly scrubbing the dishes. He must have also cleaned out the fridge. His goggles and face mask are off, and the rubber gloves are drying in the dish drain. He growls when Belial slings an arm around him. “What’s your excuse for being a nuisance this time?”

“Ta-da!” Belial holds out the package. “Hot spring bath salts!”

Lucilius stares unimpressed. “And?”

“It should be fun, nice and aromatic. It’ll ease those tensions away, make you relax up to your bones.”

Lucilius shrugs. “Do what you want.”

“Whoa, wait a moment.” Belial walks over, slides a hand along Lucilius’ shoulder. “It’s been a long day, with a lot of hard work. Why don’t we both try it out. It’ll be nice and hot, you and me, together.”

“Absolutely not. Besides, I’m sure your hospital days will tell you that’s an infection waiting to happen.”

“That’s harsh. I just mean relaxing, no sexy times.”

Lucilius waits a long moment, looking at the sink. Then he finally says, “I don’t like other people looking at me.”

“Come on, I’ve seen your legs and your neck and your arms and your back and your face and—”

Lucilius doesn’t reply, continuing to wash the dishes. The water is running so hot it’s turning his hands red.

“Okay. Let’s pour in a ton of bubbles. Not sure if that’ll work very well with the bath salts, but it’s worth a try.”

“What are you going on about?”

“These are green bath salts, want to see if the bubbles turn green too?”

Lucilius turns off the water, shoots Belial a look of pure disgust. “Your perversion knows no bounds. You want to see me naked that badly?”

“I mean, yeah. You’re hot, of course I want to look at you. But more than that, spas are fun.”

“I know of your weekly trips. I’m not going to a—”

“Exactly, you’re not.”

Lucilius quirks an eyebrow. 

“Spas are great, especially the baths. They’re fun and relaxing and make me feel good. Why wouldn’t I want to share the thing I like with you?”

Lucilius sighs, puts the last of the dishes in the drain. “You will not touch me. If you keep your eyes on me for longer than five seconds, I’ll test the durability of your skull.”

“I promised, this is a strictly all-ages bath. Why don’t you go in first?”

Lucilius watches him carefully, waiting for the catch.

“Bubble solution should be in the cabinet. Add as much as you want.” He pushes the box into Lucilius’ hands. “One packet should be enough!” he calls over his shoulder. 

As he gathers up his donation pile, he hears a faucet squeak, and then the rush of water. Eve has curled half her body up in the bowl, an awkward pretzel, satisfied for now. He opens the window, ignoring the hit of cold air, and lights a cigarette. Inhales the smoke and blows a harsh stream out the window. He didn’t actually expect Lucilius to agree. He doesn’t know what to do. Or maybe he knows exactly what to do.

It takes him twenty minutes to move all his giveaway goods and keep everything tidy the way Lucilius had it organized. The bathroom door is tightly shut, no shadows moving under the door. He knocks twice, and when he doesn’t hear any objections, he announces, “I’m coming in.” Nobody stops him.

Lucilius put in bubbles alright— probably the entire container. It isn’t a dusting to obscure the water but a whole thick layer. He can’t see Lucilius’ body, not even an outline, just his head where it’s peeking out above the green blanket of bubbles. 

“Think you have enough?”

“Shut up. Are you getting in or not?”

“Yes, yes.” So much for a long and generous strip show. No point if there’s no audience watching. 

He sighs happily once he slips in. Good temperature. Sometimes those bath salts are a little too much sulfur, but this one doesn’t stink at all. The bubbles are totally green, and haze over when he pops one. Lucilius has parked himself firmly in the corner across from Belial, knees to his chest, submerged up to his nose. He’s crouched there completely stiff, unmoving. 

He stretches his legs out, and his foot knocks into Lucilius’ hip. He’s got a pretty sizable bathtub, but it’s nothing like those in the Bahamut mansion. “Come on, Faa-san. It’s a bath.”

“I’m well aware of what a bath is.”

“Then relax.” He nudges Lucilius with his foot once again. “Lean in. Let the heat get to you. Loosen up.”

He didn’t know it was possible, but Lucilius tightens up even more.

Belial sighs, and folds up a washcloth to use as a cushion. He slips it underneath his neck and leans back. “Give it some time,” he says and closes his eyes. 

The bath steam sinks into his skin, eases all the soreness out of his muscles. So much pent-up stress, the toil of long hours. He goes into himself, drifting for some time, but when he resurfaces, Lucilius is still wound up tight. 

“Come on, stretch out. You don’t seem to have a problem with being unoccupied.”

He sees Lucilius frown in his reflection across the bathroom tiles. “No.”

“You agreed to this and you’re not taking full advantage of it?”

Lucilius sinks further down into the blanket of bubbles. “I know what you want. What you want to do to me.”

“I’ve obeyed your five second rule, haven’t I? I’m even not looking at you right now.”

“All you need is your _imagination_ ,” Lucilius’ tone could cut diamonds. 

“Still not over that, huh.” Belial cricks his shoulders, keeping his eyes firmly on the bubbles. “True, but I’m not going to act on my imagination right now.”

“Or ever.”

“Sure.” He’s not going to debate that. “But you got this far, so I’m going to enjoy that.”

Lucilius watches him, no trace of a smile on his mouth. “I don’t understand. Why would you want someone who…”

“Who what?” When Lucilius doesn’t answer, Belial tries, “Who looks the way you do?”

Lucilius’ glare drops the bath’s temperature by twenty degrees. “Condescending, are we?” he says, poison deep in his throat. 

“Nope. I don’t get it, and I won’t pretend to. But you know what I think? I think you’re looking fine.”

Lucilius tilts his head. Belial knows that the next answer, if he gives it wrong, is fire to gasoline. 

“Hey, I think I’ve got a good visual eye. I have taste. And even if you did look different, you’re still you. Lucio’s too vapid and Lucifer’s too pure. You though? You’re something else, that’s not them.”

“You think that’s enough?”

“Sure.”

Lucilius looks down at the body that he hates, scoffs, but says nothing. He pushes his shoulders back, tilting his head up at the ceiling, as if it has some answers. Belial lets the silence steam between them.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Mmhm.”

A few minutes later, he hears the water slosh as Lucilius shifts. He slides over so Lucilius’ legs have some room to stretch out. 

“I should’ve brought in a book,” Lucilius mumbles.

“I have a couple of magazines by the hamper.”

Lucilius sighs, but Belial hears the water splash as he reaches over to fetch one. 

 

* * *

_ >It’s Lucifer. Are you free on the 17th ? _

How did Lucifer get his number? Then again, how did Lucilius, that first time? He’s not going to think about what this crazy family is capable of. He types back an answer, gets a quick reply. 

“Why are you staring at your phone so much?”

“Lucifer’s asking me out for drinks.”

“Lucifer asked you to go drinking with him?”

“Yep. Guess I’m just irresistible.”

Lucilius puts his pen down, pushing his papers aside. “Did you proposition him?”

“He propositioned me, actually. Did you give him my number?”

Lucilius ignores the question. “Why would Lucifer want to mingle with you?”

“I’m just too popular to ignore. Guess after Friday night, all that’s left is to nab Lucio. Three’s a charm.”

Lucilius’ eyes are thin, promising danger. He steps over to where Belial is sitting, towering over him. “You will not flirt with him. You will not make any advances on him. You will keep your filthy claws to yourself and treat him with respect. Do you understand?”

“Wow, bro-con. Protecting his purity?”

Except Lucilius has reached into his shoulder bag and whipped out a scalpel. “I said, do you understand?”

“Into bloodplay? Mm, you can cut me up, lick my wounds, ride me all at once. But I’ll only agree if doctor gives me some proper healing afterward—”

Lucilius slams the scalpel into the chair, the handle quivering in the space between Belial’s legs. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal.” Fear and arousal battles in Belial’s stomach. “You are so forward, Faa-san. I love it.” He reaches up, hooks a finger on the black ribbon by Lucilius’ collar, and pulls him down. He pecks a light kiss on Lucilius’ cheek before he can react. “Don’t worry. You’re already the best there is.” Lucilius snaps back, fuming, but Belial slips the scalpel back into his hand. “I’ll play nice. Promise.”

 

* * *

 

It’s an average sports bar, nothing special. He has to walk down a flight of stairs to get in, and the bouncer barely looks at his ID. All the ping-pong tables are full, and a couple of girls are setting up to play a game of pool. No smoking indoors, but it feels like there’s a heavy padding of smoke blocking the ceiling, mingling with the gloom. It’s Friday, and the place is full. People are packed by the bar, watching the TV on the wall playing some football game. Chatter drowns out whatever the announcers are saying. 

Once he’s got his drinks, he finds an empty booth and slides in. Takes his first beer nice and slow, testing the venue. The patrons are loud, but they mind their own business. A couple of people look his way, but nobody tries to start a conversation.

Fifteen minutes later, his guest arrives. Lucifer isn’t in a suit, but he’s dressed like a rich boy going to a golf course, toting a backpack and a suitcase behind him. Did he just come from the airport? Talk about standing out in the crowd. “You’re here early.” Lucifer slides into the booth, plastic squelching beneath him. There’s barely enough space for him to squeeze his bag in.

“I got lucky,” he lies. He’s always early to meetups. If someone’s waiting for him, then he’ll know ahead of time. He’s survived this far thanks to caution, and that’s not changing anytime soon. “How was Kolkata?”

Lucifer looks at Belial for second too long and then says, “Busy.”

“Rough time, huh?”

Lucifer sighs, drooping onto his backpack. “We got our evidence, plenty of it. But it’s so… disheartening, seeing how people are willing to abuse the environment for short-term profit.”

There isn’t really much he could add to that which won’t sound like half-hearted bullshit, so he keeps his mouth shut. He could order Lucifer some watered-down garbage beer, but he’ll save that for when Lucifer starts to annoy him. Mr. hotshot lawyer probably drinks fancy stuff all the time, and this sports bar probably isn’t going to have anything that’ll blow his mind taste-wise, but there’s always presentation. He orders some fancy-sounding cocktail, and the bartender hands him back a tall orange drink stacked with plenty of ice and a minuscule container of black berry syrup. 

Belial hands the glass to Lucifer, and drizzles the syrup all over the drink. It drips towards the bottom like falling blood, cutting through the orange with ease. Lucifer gasps, pressing his hands together, enthralled. “Wonderful.”

“What can I say? I’ve got a good eye.”

Lucifer tries it and lights up. “Delicious!”

“And alcoholic.”

“The best part.”

“Drinking the stress of the day away, hm? Why not head over to the big mansion and drink with family?”

“If the twins want to, I suppose… but Lucio can’t hold his drinks. It wouldn’t be a very good time.”

Belial quirks an eyebrow and sips from his own drink. 

Neither speak for a good ten minutes. Belial’s fine with not talking, he’s not the kind of guy that needs to fill the air with chatter all the time, but he has no idea what Lucifer wants. A lot of unknowns have been popping up lately. 

“So why me? This isn’t a date, is it?”

Lucifer leans across the table, that bright glint in his eyes bouncing off the low light, trying to see the shape of Belial’s skull beneath his face. Belial shifts back, instinct running his body before his poise can. If there’s anything that Bahamut taught his kids, it’s how to be unnerving as hell. “I want to hear your debate.”

“My what?”

“Tell me why you think charity is a pointless endeavor, and I’ll buy you a round.”

“…Is this a trap?”

“Not at all. You’re so outspoken during dinners. I thought you’d be more than happy to share your opinions.”

Oh man, he’s serious. “Alright, well you got something in mind, don’t you? This isn’t just some hypothetical you’re swinging. Give me some details to work with.”

Lucifer nods, having anticipated this. “A suburban outreach program.”

Belial nods, urging Lucifer to continue.

“We’re thinking of partnering with three companies that focus on different fronts so we can work with multiple angles. One with education, one with food, and the other with foster care.”

“Right. What’s the first one?”

“Additional tutoring services, essentially. Free tutoring outside of school, that’s promoted by both the schools themselves and neighborhood leaders. Education support for all grades up to high school, as well as some basic life skills to help older children. Learning how to do taxes, navigate the insurance system, how to build credit and what to do with credit cards. There’s success in school, but learning how to navigate the important things in adulthood is equally important too.”

“The kids might not be interested. Why would they, when being out on the street earns them respect?”

“It’s true, they might not be. But for working parents, having their children in a safe and stable environment would be an ideal one.”

Belial stirs his drink with his straw. “And the second?”

“A food pantry. Several of them, actually. Our company can’t open them up ourselves, but we’re partnering with a few programs that do. It isn’t as if people in dire circumstances don’t want to eat better— but they have limited access. Hard to make healthy choices when all that’s regularly affordable is fast food. This will allow them more options.”

“But you’re not going to hand out money to them? Then what’s the point of being preachy?”

“One time donations don’t often help,” Lucifer sighs, stirring his drink. “It’s instilling habits that do. A lump sum may help for short term things and that is important, but change is in the long term. That doesn’t mean that people don’t deserve help when they’re down, though.”

“I get it, but what about accessibility?”

“You mean putting it in an easy-to-access location?”

Belial waves the notion away. “No, I mean who gets it. Pantries aren’t the same as soup kitchens, see? They’re not open to the homeless. It’s not like kids can go and pick up food either. You know the rules, but how are you so sure that the people it’s helping do?”

Lucifer nods, digesting the information. “Transparency then. I wouldn’t want people to get their hopes up, only to be let down.”

“Yeah, just like that. And the last one?”

“That’s less a program more than it is partnering with a company that works closely with foster homes. Donations that will go towards resources towards the homes, to give the children better facilities to live in.”

“And how do you pick which houses get them?”

“We don’t. The company we’re partnered with decides.”

“And what’s their criteria?”

“I admit, that I don’t know.”

“Yeah, see? Good that you’re not jerking me around, pretending like you do, but you should know that. What are the foster parents like? Are they trustworthy? Are they going to put that money towards beds, books, toys, or just for some expensive food? They could put in a fancy new kitchen and claim it’s for the kids.”

“But the price would be…”

“And who’s the judge of that? Everyone’s got different price standards. So would the people checking those expense reports. And is the company you’re working with going to send you those expense reports, or are they going to just take your money and say ‘trust us’?”

Lucifer nods, taking all the information in.

“Second is… I don’t think you’re looking for the right thing to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that sure, some foster homes are dumps, and need all the money they can get. Some of those dumps might be legit too. But you’re trying to make a long term difference, right? Then you need to focus on places where the system’s really broken.”

“Such as?”

“Like the kids who get left behind.”

“I don’t understand. There are always people looking to adopt.”

Belial shakes his head. “You got it all wrong. People are willing to adopt babies. They don’t want older kids, no matter how bright they are.”

Lucifer looks genuinely confused. “Why not?”

“Easy. You can mold a baby, make them love you. Babies need help, they trust whatever treats them good and feeds them. A kid with a personality, that’s been raised knowing they were abandoned? That’s baggage. Nobody wants a kid with baggage, that’s too much work. Adoptive parents want a kid that can be their own, not one they need to convince to be their own.”

“…That’s terrible.”

Belial shrugs. “That’s how it is. Plus there’s financial incentives, but what’s stopping people from adopting a lot of kids to get that check? Same with foster care homes. It’s group care. You’d be in there with ten other kids. But that’s common knowledge. So Mr. Do-Good, you need to put your money where there isn’t a lot— like outreach.”

“You mean like tutors?”

“Sure, why not. Maybe career counselors too, people that will give them advice and professional support. Stuff a parent’s supposed to do. How many services do you know that bothers with the kids that are going to age out of the system?”

Lucifer nods, thinking. “I think I’ll have to do some more research on this. It seems I was more unprepared than I thought. Thank you, you gave me some good insight.”

“Guess you picked right after all, huh?”

“Indeed. You seem very knowledgeable about the foster care system.”

Belial smiles, shoots him a wink. “You think so? I’ve done some research.”

“Didn’t you go the medical route? Did you also study sociology?”

“Oh, you know. Sometimes people are just curious. I like knowing things.”

Lucifer looks at him smiling, and Belial remembers that he’s speaking to not just a charity man, but a lawyer who digs up people’s secrets and hangs them out for the world to see. 

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Belial pauses. He didn’t expect Lucifer to back down. “Because you already know the answer?” he asks, thinking of Sandalphon’s background check.

Lucifer shakes his head. “Because that doesn’t change the fact that you can tell me these things regardless. You give honest opinions, and I value that.”

Honest isn’t a word many people have used to describe him. “People lie to a lawyer’s face a lot, huh.”

“It isn’t even in the courtrooms.” Lucifer droops a little. “So many people tell me what they think they want me to hear. Sometimes that isn’t the truth.”

Rich lawyer from a big family, that must frighten a lot of people. People in power want yes-men, that’s often true, but not for Lucifer. “Probably because you scare them.”

“It’s possible. People don’t usually like me.”

“Really? People don’t usually like you?”

Lucifer looks down shyly. “Alright, maybe not exactly that way… I meant more for friendships. And relationships. At work, I get respect and that’s enough. But outside… people are more interested in my family. People see fortune or fame, and they want some for themselves. It doesn’t matter who has it. They want a Bahamut… they don’t want me.”

That’s no surprise. Someone with Lucifer’s looks, his firm but gentle personality, and family money? The gold diggers must have been lining up down the street to get a chance at him.

“But Sandalphon…” Lucifer inhales, softly. “He works at the cafe I go to often, and we started talking after a while. I escape the office sometimes to get a change of pace, and he became a bright moment in my routine.” He smiles at the memory. “When I eventually told him what my job was, he laughed at me. I think he believed I was joking.”

And Sandalphon probably almost had a heart attack when he found out that Lucifer wasn’t. Belial’s sad he wasn’t there to see Sandalphon’s face. “So you had a good laugh when Sandy found the truth? He gets so red when he gets flustered. It’s cute.”

Lucifer looks into his glass. “He had no idea what I have. To him, I was only a strange looking customer that would chat to him whenever I came in. I was only what he saw me as.” He grips his glass tight. “Can you imagine how wonderful that was?”

Belial wondered why someone like Lucifer would have ever picked up on Sandalphon’s existence, but it all makes sense. He takes a gulp of his drink. He understands, more than Lucifer could ever know. 

Lucilius looking at him with such fury that first time, not because of who he was, but what he did. Lucilius, who stayed with him otherwise, who couldn’t care less if he was on top of the music charts or not. Lucilius, who didn’t care if Belial was a failure, as long as he didn’t fail him.

“Bet daddy didn’t look too kindly on that.”

“Father? I don’t know what he thinks of Sandalphon, but he hasn’t complained.”

Does Bahamut not talk to any of his kids? Weird family just keeps getting weirder. 

“Still, if he had an objection, surely he would’ve said something by now. Lucio likes Sandalphon a lot. And Lucilius… well, he will just have to deal with it.”

Belial chokes on his drink, caught between coughing and laughing. Lucifer’s got more guts than he expected. “Fighting for your fair maiden’s honor? I bet Sandy’s going to be real mad that you came to see me instead of sweeping him off his feet.”

Lucifer flashes, remembering something, and rummages through his backpack. “Do you think these are good souvenirs for him?”

Four bags of coffee: ‘Amalthea blend has the bitterness from European imports and smoky quality cultivated by the small farms in Asia, and the resulting low acid roast is notably bold and heavy, with notes of woodiness,’ ‘Mephorash blend is a heavy bodied dark roast with some nutty, herbal notes of blackcurrant and a spicy finish popular in the region,’ ‘Auguste Isles blend is blonde roast, Latin blend, light and tropical, with notes of berries that pairs well with citrus,’ ‘Single origin Kluger beans have a lively and sweet acidity, distinct as a medium roast, but with a rich caramelly body and an earthy finish.’ This is some rich people nonsense. But Sandy would probably have to break the bank to get his hands on some of these normally. “I think coffee boy will like them.”

“That’s good!” Lucifer puts them back in his backpack, making sure they’re all sealed tight. “I thought a long time about these. I figured that Sandalphon liked the Albion blends at the last food fair we went to…”

Belial zones out. He has no interest in the fluffy aspects of Lucifer and Sandalphon’s relationship. It’s so saccharine that it makes him want to throw up.

“After all, our two year anniversary is coming up and—“

He keys into that. “Damn, it’s almost two years now and you still haven’t fucked? That’s really a little— wait, are you like Faa-san, that you’re not interested?”

“N-No!” Lucifer turns bright red. “Sandalphon is very attractive! I am interested in him! I wouldn’t mind at all!”

There are some words he didn’t expect to go near Lucifer’s mouth. “But…”

“But.” Lucifer simmers down, lips thin. He drums his fingers along the condensation of the glass. “I know I was born fortunate. My brothers are extremely skilled. Father is… well, he’s Father. The twins are multi-talented. Sandalphon comes from a humble background, and I know he sees my life and my family and feels like he doesn’t belong. I think when Lucilius brought you over, that… solidified. It’s ridiculous, of course, but I know that he doubts himself.”

Belial had an inkling of that and honestly, it’s not too surprising. Sandalphon sure isn’t telling him any details about his life, but Belial’s managed to piece together a few things; Sandalphon grew up in a semi-rural town, spent some time as a street punk, barely made it past high school. He came to the city, maybe for a dream, maybe out of desperation, and works long grueling shifts at a coffeehouse chain for that overtime pay. Then there’s one of the richest families in the country, and one of those genius kids ends up dating him. Belial would never let his life go like that, but if he did, hell, he’d feel inadequate too. 

“He thinks there’s an imbalance, that he can’t match up to me financially. And that’s fine, I don’t need expensive gifts from him. But he… sometimes feels worthless, and I can see that. I can’t change that, but I can see the hurt. I want him to see himself like how I see him, but there’s no real way to make that happen, is there? If he thinks that I only want something physical…”

“But you do find him physically attractive, don’t you? I mean, he’s got a nice pair of legs.”

“He is very strong. It’s probably because of his footwear, he wears those even at work. He skates to work too.”

Belial chokes on his drink. “Sandy works the floor in heels?”

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

He knows the chain Sandy works at, and they don’t let their employees sit down. No wonder his legs are made of goddamn iron. “Yeah, that sure is something. He could choke you real well.”

“With… his legs?”

“Sure. Or when you’re going at it, he could keep you anchored.”

“I think I’m alright…” Lucifer admits.

Aww, Lucifer is vanilla. That’s cute. “I’ve got to ask, are you experienced?”

“With what?”

“Sex, of course. You ever go down on someone? Or have someone give it to you?”

Lucifer chuckles. “I went to an all-boy’s school.”

Yeah, that would do it.

“I don’t think it’s lack of experience. Perhaps I’m... coming on too strong.”

No, Lucifer’s doing just fine. It’s just that these two are complete virgins, even if one of them isn’t actually a virgin. Lucifer is more perceptive than Belial initially thought, but the man’s still got a long way to go. “Lucifer... Sandy’s thirsty.”

“For what?”

“You.”

“Oh.”

“Look. I’ve had plenty of experience with this kind of stuff, and I can tell. He’s into you, he’s really into you, and he’s desperately horny. He wants you to top him so bad.”

“Ah… I see.” He thumbs the sides his glass. “Do you think that’s only because of his confidence?”

“That’s he’s horny for you…?”

“No, not that! I mean that… do you think he has the image of me being a... domineering person because he doesn’t have much confidence in himself?"

Wow! He is not having this conversation right now! “Your glass is empty.”

“Oh! Let me get a refill.” Lucifer squirms out of the booth and hurries towards the bar. Once he’s out of sight, Belial sighs and downs the rest of his drink. This is why he doesn’t do couples therapy. By the time Lucifer returns, the alcohol buzz is finally hitting Belial, and that’s exactly what he needs to get through this conversation.

“Lucifer, you ever bottomed before?”

Lucifer blinks before answering, “A few times, yes.”

“Okay, hear me out. Let Sandy top you.”

After a long pause, Lucifer finds his words again. “Why this proposal?”

“Because if you let him top you, that’ll make him feel like he’s in control.”

“That sounds incredibly stereotypical…”

“It totally is, you and I know that kind of thinking is all bs. But to an insecure virgin like Sandy, that might be what he needs. Maybe he does want you to top him because he thinks you’ve got your life together and you’ve got all that power. But if he doesn’t actually like that power maybe he needs a, let’s say, concession of sorts. It’s not what’s actually happening, it’s the gesture. If you’re willing to let him take control, then maybe that’ll level the playing field.”

“That’s completely absurd.”

“Completely. But Lucifer, you work in law, don’t you? Then you know— it doesn’t need to make sense to everyone, it just needs to make sense to that one person.”

Lucifer takes a two-shot silence. “I think I understand. I’ll let Sandalphon decide.” He takes a breath, gaining confidence. “Yes… I think that’s it. Maybe I was being disrespectful of his feelings by just assuming things. If he wants something, then I should do my best to fulfill that. At the very least, I should talk with him about what he wants and how he wants it. There’s nothing I can do about our work or financial differences, but as partners, we’re equals. I’ll show it to him, I’ll make him believe it.”

Belial wouldn’t trade Lucilius in for the world, but he’s got to admit, Sandalphon struck gold. 

“Thank you, Belial. I think I needed someone to talk to about this.” Lucifer smiles, faintly. “I can see why Lucilius is so enamored with you.”

Enamored is probably stretching it, by a lot. “Hey, we got something good going.”

“I’m glad. This is the first time someone’s been so interested in my brother. I’m happy he found someone. I didn’t think he ever would.”

Belial quirks an eyebrow. So he’s Lucilius’ first relationship? Actually, now that he thinks about it, that isn’t too surprising. Well, more for him.

“You both have an active sex life, right? You do like talking about it at family dinners.”

Man, it is weird hearing Lucifer talk this much about sex. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“If my brother is willing to adjust his behavior to make his partner happy, then that means the person is worth his effort. You have to care a lot about someone to do that. Belial, you’re a good person.”

“Okay, now I know you’re bullshitting me.”

“I know my brothers have been fighting for years. But they both know that it makes me upset, so they never argue in front of me. They don’t tell me anything, but I know it still happens and I know it hasn’t gotten any better. But Lucilius is up front with you, I know he tells you the things that bothers him. I’m glad he finally found someone to trust.”

Belial wants to bite back, but he doesn’t have anything to say. Without lying once, Lucifer had him beat. “You know what, Feru? You’re not so bad. You can get me that round next time.”

Lucifer gives him a shy smile, like he enjoys the idea.

 

* * *

 

Lucilius, unsurprisingly, is awake when Belial gets home. Looking at the tidied pile of papers on the table, he’s finished with his work, for once. A frown is set on his face, Belial prying his attention away from the book he was reading. 

“Did you stay up for me? Darling, you shouldn’t have.” Belial slings his jacket onto the coat rack, stretching his back after a long night of sitting down. 

“If you approached Lucifer, I’ll find out.”

“Why ask me then?”

“Because I’m asking. Now answer.”

Belial gives a grin, sits on the floor by the couch. “You care a lot about him, don’t you?”

“He’s my brother,” Lucilius says as if it’s obvious. “Even if he does have terrible taste in men.”

Belial teases Lucilius, but he knows that Lucifer is one of the few tunnels to his soul. He’d sink a continent if it meant that Lucifer would smile. Belial doesn’t understand, but he knows. “Big brother disapproves, hm?”

Lucilius scoffs. “The only thing that brat has to him is that he’s not a company spy… actually, shame he isn’t. If he was, then that’s a reason to get rid of him.”

“Plotting Sandy’s demise, are we?”

“Not while they’re together. Once they’re separated…” Lucilius tenses up when he sees Belial smiling like he’d bit into a delicious piece of cake. “What’s with that look?”

“No reason,” Belial hums. Lucifer may be a guiding light, but Lucilius gleams beautifully in the dark. There’s no better place for Belial than here in the shadows.

 

* * *

 

He’s figured out the family dinner routine enough that it’s a strange sight to see the twins not be first at the drink table for desserts. “Is there another announcement stream for their games or something?” he asks Lucifer, who’s helping dry the dishes. 

“No,” Lucifer replies. “Miss Siero called. They always take a few minutes to talk to her.”

He’s heard the name once or twice during dinners, but never seen a picture. Or a description. “Who?”

“Oh, right. She’s a family friend of ours, the one who sent over the twins for Lucio.”

“A businessman?”

“In a sense.”

“Sierokarte Gotle is an arms dealer. One of Father’s old friends.” Lucilius interrupts from the sink, turning the tap so it’s quiet enough that his voice can give its warning. And cut any of Belial’s schemes short. 

Belial blinks. Leaning over to Lucilius, he murmurs, “How does your dad know someone like that?”

Lucilius shrugs, uncaring.

If the twins are busy chatting, then Lucio’s wandering the house by himself. No better opportunity. “And where’s big brother? I have a present for him.”

Lucilius studies him carefully. “Lucio? A present?”

“A bribe.”

Lucilius scoffs, deeming it an acceptable answer. “Probably in one of the living rooms, doing whatever Lucio does.”

Lucio is by himself in one of the furnished rooms, lying down on the sofa as he thumbs down something on a tablet. He sits up when Belial enters and drops down right next to him, jostling the pillows.

“Hey, Lucio. Having fun?”

“Checking mail. Did you enjoy dinner?”

“Yeah, Lucifer’s a hell of a cook. Sandy’s getting spoiled rotten.”

“That’s good.” Lucio acts polite, but it feels like he’s just tolerating Belial’s presence. That’s fine, but the good upstanding facade is such a bore. People like him need to let loose a little. 

Belial runs a line down the side of Lucio’s neck with his finger, watching the other man flinch. “You’re stiff today. Yoga not working its magic lately?”

“I’ve been just fine, thank you.” Lucio’s tone is a warning to not try the same thing again.

“Stressed then? Or wound up. Unless there’s something you want to say to me?”

“I have… nothing to say to you.”

“Taken in by my charm then?”

“I don’t know you.”

“Even after all these dinners? All these months? Come on, you can’t have not gotten used to me by now.”

“I don’t know you.” Lucio’s voice is a clear verdict.

“But,” Belial says, parrying the blow, “you could try.”

“I don’t think you’re very interested in sharing.”

“Really? You think so?”

“And after all these dinners and all these months, you haven’t told us anything that can’t be found on a quick internet search, or on a resume.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

Lucio looks at him, measuring him. Belial didn’t think this would be easy, but Lucio’s not nearly as dumb as Lucilius says he is. Or as blind. Each of the triplets comes with enough armor to make the national treasury want to rethink their security.

“It is,” Belial presses. “It’s not like I’m going to say everything to everyone. In-laws are scary. Besides, Faa-san doesn’t seem to have much of a problem. Don’t you trust his judgment?”

“I do not.” Ouch. “But,” Lucio says with a small sigh, “I trust him to be himself. He might not make the best decisions, but he makes his decisions.”

Belial raises his eyebrows. “You have more sense than I thought.”

“Is that what Lucilius says about me…” Lucio mumbles, downcast. 

“Hey, don’t worry.” Belial slings an arm around Lucio’s shoulders. “Sometimes things don’t always work out, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But your little brother’s getting a little happier, and you can’t put a price tag on that.”

“I suppose…” Lucio doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

“Well, I’ll let you in on something. I’m sticking around long-term. You might as well get used to me. I’m not that bad— maybe you’ll learn to see what Faa-san sees in me too.”

Lucio exhales, long and thin. “As long as you don’t flirt with me again.”

Belial licks his teeth. “Promise. Well, if we’re being friendly, then why not share a drink?” He uncorks the good champagne he bought, pours Lucio a glass. “A present from me to you, big brother.”

“I really don’t think I should…”

“Why not? The table’s full with bottles, and I spent a lot on this one. We shouldn’t let any of it go to waste.”

“I’m not the best drinker.”

“What? This isn’t a bar. This is your house, all friendly. I know you go on a lot of trips, you know that splitting a drink between two people is a good way to better relations.” Belial hands Lucio his glass. “It’ll be fun.”

Lucio’s mouth rumples as he looks at the glass. “...I suppose I need to ease my nerves.”

“That’s the spirit.” Belial perches a finger on the bottom, knocking the rim with his nail. “To better times.”

 

* * *

 

Lucilius walks into the living room, looks at its occupants, and starts to walk right out.

“Faa-san, in such a hurry?” Belial croons. “Come join the party.”

He does pause, twists on his heels to face them, expression accusatory. “What did you do?”

Lucio is still next to Belial, now keeping Sandalphon trapped in the most uncomfortable hug. “San-chan,” he sniffles, patting Sandalphon’s hair. “You’re so good. I’m so glad Lucifer found you.”

Sandalphon sends panicked help signs with his eyes, but Lucilius isn’t interested in picking up signals. 

“We just had a couple of drinks,” Belial hums, innocent. 

“Of course you did.”

Lucio picks his head up, eyes wet with unshed tears. He catches Lucilius with his eyes, freezing him in place. “Lucilius, come here. I miss you.”

“Absolutely not.” He frowns at the twins, who are surveying the whole scene from the floor by the window. “Why aren’t you two interfering?”

“Lucio’s not in danger,” Gran points out, not willing to part with his plate of octopus salad. “He’s already home. Worst happens is that he passes out.”

“Also, we’re not on cleanup duty today,” Djeeta says, not willing to part with her plate of pie either.

“Get this menace off me.” Sandalphon’s voice has dropped two octaves and ten degrees. 

“San-chan is so cute.” Lucio nuzzles his cheek against Sandalphon’s hair. “Lucilius, you used to be so cute too. Remember when you were little and you used to play with sticks in the yard? Using them to make your charts and write your ideas down, messing up Father’s garden...”  

Lucilius’ glare is just short of lethal. 

“Sounds cute alright,” Belial twists in, catching the information with his fangs. “Faa-san used to do that?”

“He did! Stayed in the yard, because he was never good at sports like we were.” Lucio laughs at the memory. “We used to play lacrosse when we were really young. We weren’t that good. But one time, Lucifer threw too hard and the ball came down on Lucilius’ head. He moved further away, but the next throw still hit him on the head. A ball magnet!”

Lucilius reaches towards his pocket, where he keeps his razorblades hidden. 

“Don’t,” Djeeta warns. 

“Lucifer used to play lacrosse?” Sandalphon asks, the first time staying put instead of struggling.

“Not for long. He tried out a lot of things… swimming, track, oh, one summer he played tennis, but nothing stuck until he tried fencing in high school.”

Belial hears Sandalphon’s breath hitch, even from where he’s sitting. “Lucifer with a sword, Sandy.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Sandalphon hisses, but Belial knows he’s thinking about it. Hard.

Lucifer walks in, announcing, “I put cookies out on the table,” but he pauses when he sees the gathering. And Sandalphon tight in his brother’s grasp. It takes him a moment to figure it out. “Did Lucio drink?”

“Lucifer!” Lucio calls out. “My brothers! You’re all here.”

“I’m here,” Lucifer replies with a patience well practiced. “Lucilius as well.” He sits on the wooden bench across from the sofa, gestures that Lucilius sit with him too. The one surefire way to make Lucilius do anything.

“Everyone is here! For once, everyone is…” Lucio’s smile loses its luster. “It’s so hard being by myself sometimes,” he quietly says.

“No!” Belial, the serpent, says. “Aren’t you always with someone?”

“I have the twins and Father, but my brothers never call, and it feels like I’m trying so hard for nothing. I want everyone to be happy, I want everything to be like when we were kids again.” Quiet, dismally, “I want my family back.”

Belial pats Lucio on the back. “Hey, don’t get too down about it. Sandy and me, we’re here. We’re practically family, aren’t we?” 

“R-Right.” Sandalphon eyes Belial suspiciously, but he’s interrupted by Lucio squeezing him tight.

“San-chan! I always knew you were a good kid! I’m so happy…”

Sandalphon tries to wriggle out, but Lucio is deceptively strong. He ends up grumbling, letting Lucio sob on his shoulder.

“Wow, cold. After I offered my kindness,” Belial sighs, feigning disappointment.

Lucio sniffs, glancing over at Belial. “You’re hiding something. I don’t know what. But… Lucilius is content with you. There’s that.”

“I am still in the room,” Lucilius dryly reminds him.

“You are! Yes, you are.”

Belial hums contently. “No point in focusing on the bad. Why not tell us some of the good times instead?”

Lucilius bristles, finally keying in to Belial’s objective. 

“Right. Correct! Good times… mm, the summers especially. I miss those times. Don’t you miss those times, Lucilius?”

“I sure do,” says Lucilius, who starts pouring absinthe into a wine glass. Lucifer snatches the glass away. 

Something bright goes off in Lucio’s head, behind his eyes. Lucio lets go of Sandalphon, standing up so fast he nearly knocks over the cups on the low table. “I’ll be right back!” he announces, hurrying out of the room.

“Is he going to be okay?” Lucifer looks to the twins.

Djeeta tilts her head so she can see Lucio’s retreating figure. “He’s walking in a straight line. He’ll be fine.”

Lucifer turns to Belial, reluctantly respectful. “You shouldn’t have let him drink. He doesn’t hold them very well.”

“How could I have known?” Belial puts up his hands, oil-slick. He could not be more pleased. Special thanks to Lucifer, who in his endless kindness let spill of his brother’s terrible alcohol tolerance. Family dinner had been dull up until now, but there’s finally some excitement going on. Lucilius is glaring at him hard, knowing that he knows, but not sure how he found out. 

Lucio comes stumbling back, three thick books in his arms. They’re not traditional published stuff, more like scrapbooks. Whatever they are, they make Lucilius’ blood pressure jump the moment Lucio gleefully pushes one into his arms. Belial understands the moment Lucio plops back onto the couch between him and Sandalphon— old photo albums. All the photos were marked individually by date and vague location. All of them of the family. 

Sandalphon catches one picture of Lucifer in high school, in uniform, posing with the fencing team, and snaps to attention. Belial laughs, but his eyes are scanning the pages too. He snags onto a photo of Lucilius sitting in a corner by the fireplace, enclosed in a fortress of books. 

The entire album is filled with photos from front to back, all of them meticulously categorized. The script under them is all by the same hand, curved so smoothly it could have easily been computer font. It’s a mix of the brothers together, or by themselves. In the park, by the pool, at home during the holidays. Jealousy inducing.

“Wow,” Belial flips through some of them. “This is a treasure trove.” He makes eye contact with Lucilius, his smile a promise that none of this will be forgotten. Lucilius’ fury is an arctic chill that Belial drinks in. 

Lucio turns the page to a picture of the three brothers at the dining room table, all carving out pumpkins larger than their heads. “Halloween. Ten years old. The last year we made jack o’lanterns.”

“Why the last year?” Sandalphon cautiously asks.

“Because Lucilius decided to fill his up with chemicals and throw them off the roof.”

Belial grins, fond. “A menace even back then, huh.” 

Bahamut isn’t in many of the photos. When he does appear in them, he looks the same, maybe with less lines on his face and darker hair. Still with that smile that’s not really a smile. One where Lucifer is on his shoulders, trying to look over a crowd. Another where he’s holding Lucilius, as Lucilius tries to touch some dinosaur bones in a museum when his father’s not paying attention. 

“You kept all of these?” Sandalphon marvels, half impressed, half put off. 

“They’re Father’s,” Lucio explains. “He’s very good at cataloguing things.”

Lucilius is staring at the photo album on his lap like it’s a rock affixed to him. Lucifer is turning the pages of the book, gentle and kind as he narrates them, quietly enough that nobody else can hear them. 

Sandalphon finds a picture of a young Lucifer, standing on the fence watching a merry-go-round, and makes a soft sound in the back of his mouth. The next page with Lucifer lying on his back on the floor, a line of toy dolls besides him, elicits the same reaction. All this action doesn’t look good for Sandalphon’s heart.

Even as a kid, it doesn’t seem like Lucilius ever figured out how to smile properly. But he does look like he used to have some energy. His eyes are much less tired. Young, before the world got to him. 

“Remember this?” Lucifer smiles, fond. “Isn’t that when you—”

Lucilius gets up, walks out the door. Doesn’t say anything to anyone, doesn’t look at anyone either. Belial starts to say something, but sees how nobody tries to stop him and pauses. Lucifer catches him staring and says gently, “Sometimes he just needs some space.”

Lucifer isn’t the best judge when it comes to people, but he doesn’t have a reason to lie, either. 

The pictures all say the same thing; the Bahamuts were a loving family. Once. 

 

* * *

 

It’s late, but Lucilius isn’t in the kitchen. Or the dining room. Or his old room. Or any of the rooms inbetween. Belial pulls aside one of the staff, but when he asks if she’s seen Lucilius, she shakes her head. She pulls out a radio from her apron pocket, asks the rest of the staff if anyone has seen Lucilius during their rounds. Every static ‘negative’, from the radio only sends pinprickles down Belial’s spine. The estate is huge, and the sun’s gone down hours ago. It’s not the springtime, and Belial can’t spend a few hours casually looking for him. Maybe security footage will help. Belial knocks on the old dragon’s door.

A minute later, Bahamut emerges, expression vaguely friendly but still as unreadable as ever. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, just waits for Belial to say his part. 

“Faa-san’s gone.” 

“He didn’t call a car,” Bahamut says, very matter-of-factly. “The garage door hasn’t been opened, either.”

“The staff says they haven’t seen him.”

Bahamut blinks his eyes a couple of times, thinking. “I’d check the forest.”

“In this weather?”

“He always did like the trees. And being alone.”

“How are you so sure? Unless you’ve got private spy equipment in there?”

Bahamut’s lips move into something that might resemble a smile. “I know my son better than you think.” He closes the door behind him. 

 

* * *

 

Here, the winter takes lives, and it’s even harsher off the water. Belial wraps his coat tighter around him, hands deep in his pockets. There aren’t enough lights on the estate to make the paths perfectly visible, but there are enough that the staff would have no problem getting around. No thief is bold enough to try to sneak into this place, and every assassin knows better. 

Belial finds Lucilius sitting on the stone path, still too far from the lake but watching the trees like he can see through them to the water.

“You’re going to catch a cold out here,” Belial leans over, casting Lucilius in shadow. “You didn’t even take your jacket? You’re being reckless again.”

Nothing. Lucilius keeps staring down the path. Belial shrugs, takes a seat next to him. Belial sparks a cigarette to life, blows out a jet of smoke. 

The cigarette is gone halfway through when Belial speaks.  “You really don’t like old photos, huh?”

Lucilius’ expression doesn’t even as much as twitch. 

“It’s a little embarrassing, sure, but none of that’s criminal stuff. Just… being a kid. We were all stupid back then.”

Lucilius lets the cold freeze around him.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Shut up.” Lucilius’ tone makes acid taste like sugar. “You wouldn’t know. There’s not a single old photo in the apartment. Your life’s been scrubbed clean. You’ve never been seen.”

“I’m a celebrity. I have people looking me up all the time—”

“Stop pretending to be stupid. You understand exactly what I mean.”

Belial takes a long breath, closing his eyes as he exhales. “Yeah. I do.”

They both sit there for some time, Belial smoking, Lucilius not waving away the fumes, the chilly air stiffening the grass along the rocks. 

“Sorry,” Belial finally says.

“Liar.”

“I’m not. Not entirely. I’m not sorry for getting Lucio drunk, or for getting him to loosen his tongue. I am sorry for getting you mad.”

“You’ve never cared about getting me upset.”

“About teasing you, no. I’m going to keep doing that. When you go off, you go _off_. It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. But this isn’t like that.”

Lucilius doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move away, either.

“You were a cute kid though.”

“Quiet.”

“I like your Christmas outfits the best.”

“I said, quiet.”

“Especially the one with the plaid jacket and little bows on your socks— ow!” Belial yelps when Lucilius slugs him hard on the arm, but he can't help but laugh too. “I’m not trying to get you angry.”

Lucilius’ mirthless sneer is a slash of white. “You love chewing people up and spitting them out.”

“I sure do. But not you.”

“Look at me,” Lucilius orders, and Belial doesn’t hesitate. He lets his eyes go soft so Lucilius can see in. All the way down. 

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.” Anything.

Lucilius closes his eyes, holds his breath down a couple of seconds. “I want to leave.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

A few days later, the thermometer confirms a fever. Belial sighs, putting a heated up mug of honey lemon ginger tea by Lucilius’ nightstand. “You did go outside without a jacket in the middle of winter.”

Lucilius has gone through half a box of tissues, and looks like he’s glued in place. “I don’t need your hindsight.” He coughs, phlegmy. It’s not a pretty sound. 

Belial pulls a second blanket over him, watches Lucilius curls up under the fuzz. Beneath that, sickly and muffled, “When I find your baby pictures, then we’ll be even.”

Every nerve is firing danger patterns. But for Lucilius, all logic is out the window. He moves some of Lucilius’ bangs off his face, feeling the softness of his hair for just a moment. “You can try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [Miyu](https://twitter.com/Magepaw) for coming up with the lyrics for 'Raving and Groveling' and 'Contradictions', and [Grey](https://twitter.com/edenfaII) for coming up with the lyrics for 'Arc of the End' and 'Axiom'. I can't write poetry to save my life.


	5. Dead Prince's Portrait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lera did some sketches from the story, right [here!](https://lipt-97.tumblr.com/post/188850097259)

“The rival. He did it.”

“What?” Belial turns to Lucilius, eyes wide. “How can you tell?”

“He made a mistake talking to the police right now.” Lucilius picks up a cookie from the ever-dwindling pile on the tray. They’re both on the couch, watching some detective serial. Neither of them have enough energy to change the channel. 

“Which mistake?”

“The victim was killed with a sword. And the rival, right now, he said that it was terrible that the victim was _beaten_ to death. That’s not what you’d think when you hear about a death with a sword, correct?”

Belial sighs, but Lucilius sees the smile on his face, knows that he’s amused. “Is there a crime drama you can’t solve in the first fifteen minutes?”

“They’re written fairly well,” Lucilius admits. Just, he’s better.

Patting around the couch cushions for the remote, Belial grumbles, trying to see if the next episode will stump him. 

Lucilius bites into another cookie, and waits.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up to a cold, snake-shaped blanket on his stomach. Eve is half-hidden under the covers; her body on Lucilius’ midsection, but her head on the soft quilt above. The best of both worlds. Unlike Belial, Lucilius hardly moves in his sleep. Maybe he turns over once, but that’s it. To Eve, he’s the perfect kind of cushion, one that’s warm and doesn’t shift around constantly. But he’s moving now, and she perks up, urging him to stay still. Belial has spoiled her considerably.

He stares her down, and she stares him down right back. Lucilius has long perfected his judgemental glare, but Eve doesn’t have any eyelids. 

“You’re not going to win this match,” Belial tells him from the floor. He was rearranging his albums when Lucilius first laid down for his nap, and now it looks like he’s almost done.

“Do snakes usually have blue eyes?”

“No, actually! it's a very specific genetic combination that requires several generations of breeding. The science is—”

“The twins say you’re fond of blue eyes.”

“Do they, hmm?” Belial’s tone is playful, but Lucilius hears an undercurrent of annoyance. “Well, they’re pretty on her.”

“Hm.” Lucilius bops Eve’s snout with his finger. She allows herself to be petted. “She seems more… comfortable.”

“She can’t really empathize with people like a cat or dog. But she can trust. And she knows you’re you.” Belial points to the holes on her snout. “See these? They’re infrared sensors. You know what that means?”

“She senses my body heat and seeks me out accordingly?”

“It means Eve thinks you’re hot.”

“I hope she strangles you in your sleep.”

Belial laughs, and Lucilius waits.

 

* * *

 

“Happy birthday!”

“What a pointless event.”

“Oh come on. Sit down.”

He didn’t tell Belial when his birthday was for the first year that they were together, but Belial found out— of course, thanks to Lucifer. They’re drinking together a lot more now, and Lucilius isn’t sure how to take that. The issue is that Lucifer finds birthdays to be a celebration. Lucilius does not.

When he was young, the family bundled the brothers’ birthdays together. They all got their individual presents, but the festivities were always about all of them. As an adult, it’s a reminder to call up his brothers and say something vaguely pleasant. It’s never really a celebration about himself. 

Still, he sits down, and looks at the massive blueberry chiffon cake that Belial has on the table. The icing says his name and his age in loopy script. “What is this ostentatious garbage?”

“Faa-san, you’ll eat anything with sugar in it.”

“How dare you imply that I have such broad tastes?”

“Well in that case, I guess we won’t eat the cake. I’ll bring it to practice tomorrow, I’m sure Avatar will enjoy it instead.”

Lucilius snatches the cake cutter off the table before Belial can grab it. He sits back in the chair with a hmph, crossing his arms. “I still don’t see a need for all this extravagance.”

“Come on, it’s fun.” Belial holds Eve up. She has a little party hat on. 

Lucilius sighs. He takes a slice of cake, and waits.

 

* * *

 

“Where do you get half this stuff?” Belial picks up a random bottle and squints at the label. “Is this codeine? Straight codeine?”

“Yes, the important part of cough medicine.”

Belial runs though the list of containers closest to him, arranged in a line on the bathroom counter. “Propofol, morphine, epinephrine, nitroglycerine— oh, at least we have some aspirin in the middle of all that.”

“It’s important to have these things on hand.”

“For what, exactly?”

Lucilius shrugs. He needs to restock his shoulder bag anyway.

“It’s a good thing I don’t throw house parties,” Belial grumbles. “If the cops showed up, we’d both get cuffed before we could blink as soon as they saw this collection.”

Lucilius scoffs, arranging Belial’s small container of nail polish on the third shelf. “The police will not be arresting anybody.”

“Right, I bet your dad’s intruder alert rings straight on the captain’s desk. Anyone who arrests a Bahamut is looking to end their career.”

Lucilius isn’t denying it. His father is many things, and wrathful is one of them. He puts some burn cream in the back of the cabinet, and waits.

 

* * *

 

It’s been too long. He’s become complacent. Lucilius isn’t waiting any longer.

He spreads a calendar out in front of him. Belial just got back from a small tour. It would have been the perfect opportunity then, except Belial wanted pictures of Eve every so often. He’s also figured out Lucilius’ inability to take flattering photos long ago, so hiring a pet-sitter to fake them wouldn’t be enough. Lucilius has to do this on his own.

He has an idea to buy him time, but he needs accomplices to do simple tasks. Nothing meaningful, just enough to keep up the lie. Easy tasks to relegate to a friend.

Lucilius looks at his phone, pausing. Right. He doesn’t have any friends.

He does have the next best thing.

 

* * *

 

“A landline?” Gran asks, an hour later. He looks at the bulky phone, checking the status of it. The dial tone hums steadily. “People still have these things?”

“It is an office. Every office needs a landline to be official. You trying to set up a side business now?” Djeeta is playing around in a swivel chair, rifling through a bag of gummy bears. “I didn’t think you ever wanted to leave your lab.”

The twins both look like they threw on whatever was closest in the closet at the time. They don’t put in much effort if they don’t have to see anyone on their days off, and Lucilius knows they’ve never bothered to put up a front for him. Not like anyone is going to be coming into this office rental anyway. 

“Answering machines aren’t good enough. Anyone calls that phone, I want you to give them convincing information. And before I go, I want you to throw a website together for me, very straightforward, just enough to look legitimate. Can you do that?”

Gran makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Phones, okay. But I don’t know much about site design.”

“Not you.”

“Wait,” Djeeta hastily chews down a glob of gummies. “What makes you think I know anything?”

“That blog of yours for the mobile game you play? With all the detailed spreadsheets?”

Djeeta holds her hands up, defeated. “So you want us to… be your secretaries. But you don’t want him to know?”

“Right.”

They all know the _him_ is a blanket statement. 

The twins are reliable. He doesn’t know where they came from, and he’s never asked. Lucio had a particularly bad experience with some unsavory people, so Father asked Miss Siero if she had any people to spare. She sent them over as interns, but they took a liking to Lucio, so they decided to stay. They’ll do whatever has to get done. No better options.

“I don’t know.” Gran looks over the rental one more time. “Your brother has us running around a lot. If one of us has to be here all the time, then it’ll make our regular jobs a lot harder. Also, you’re asking for an identity. You know how hard that is?”

“Fresh paperwork, licenses, tax history,” Djeeta counts out on her fingers, “credit score, old bank accounts. Internet history too, social media, those cheap sites on the internet that pull basic information from the census. None of that stuff is easy to make, you know? It’s not just making a fake ID to get into a bar.”

Then he tells them how much they’d be getting paid. Up front.

“When do we start?”

 

* * *

 

“I’m going away for a while.”

“Where to?” Belial asks.

“There’s a conference in Berlin. I’m not presenting, but I need to show my face for credentials.” He can’t keep the sneer off the end of that thought.

“Academia’s still the same,” Belial muses, sharing the same contempt. “How long?”

“Three weeks.”

“Long time. I’m going to be all alone without you.”

“I don’t recall complaining when you go on your concert tours.”

“You wouldn’t.” Belial reaches out to Lucilius, touching his cheek. It’s offending, but it doesn’t seem like it’s leading into anything, so Lucilius lets him. “I’ll miss you anyway.”

 

* * *

 

Belial caries his bags down when the car comes, waves goodbye from the street corner. The car drives along smoothly to the airport, early enough in the morning that traffic hasn’t built up along the highway yet. He tips the driver generously, gets out, and bides his time.

Five minutes later, Djeeta pulls up in a car too nondescript to be anything that Lucio would have in his garage. She throws him a few bags of clothes, with the receipt indicating a recent trip to a thrift store. Inside one is a rubber-banded pack of business cards, two wigs, and a box of blonde hair dye.

“What’s this?”

She shoots him a look. “How many albino PIs do you think there are walking around? Also,” She tosses in a pack of band-aids of assorted sizes. “Put one of these on your cheek, maybe on your fingers too. People’s memories aren’t as good as they say they are— they’ll get pulled to what stands out the most, so put something on that they’ll remember. When you get to the hotel, get working on that right away. Also don’t forget your eyebrows, people always do.” She doesn’t mention his neck, Lucilius is already used to wearing high-collared shirts to keep the scars hidden. 

“I’ll contact you—”

“Oh, right.” She reaches into the glove compartment, pulls out a big, chunky phone, and hands it to him.

“A sat-phone?”

“You don’t know exactly where you’re going, right? Let’s not lose connection. Also, the less people listening in, the better.” She gives two numbers. “The first one’s mine, the second one’s Gran’s. Do you need to write that down?”

“I’ll remember them.”

She sighs dramatically. “I wish I could do that too, memorize numbers easily. Especially when your brother makes us do so much stuff. You sure you don’t want one of us to come with you?”

Lucilius shakes his head. “Lucio would find it strange that you’d take a vacation without telling him first.” Or worse, he’d want to tag along. Nobody stands out more than Lucio.

“I know, but… can you do this? Like, actually do this?”

To her, he’s probably just a reclusive scientist. And true, he is that. But Lucio is right about one thing, Lucilius is more than qualified to co-lead Paradise. His father taught him, all the brothers, how to do good business. It’s helped him over the years and it will help him now. “Don’t doubt me.”

“Well,” she pats his shoulder, “keep in touch.” Djeeta slides out of the car and dissolves into the crowd.

The keys are still in the ignition. He merges into exiting traffic and dissolves too. 

 

* * *

 

It’s quieter outside of the city. Lucilius has done his fair amount of traveling, so this isn’t an unfamiliar sensation, but he feels the emptiness of it now. The cheap hotel chain he checks into is all blank. He’s used to hotels, although the ones he stays in are a little more upscale than this. 

He tests out the hair dye, and does a few makeup trials until it’s perfect. The person in the mirror hardly looks like him. He’s not sure if that’s better than usual, or worse.

 

* * *

 

“I thought you wanted to get coffee,” the girl from the court office says with a frown. 

“Here’s your coffee,” Lucilius gestures to the extra-large coffee across from him. 

She quirks an eyebrow as she sits down, crossing her long legs. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“I have something better.” She becomes a lot less disgruntled when she sees the rolled up wad of bills in his hand. “I have a few questions that I need to ask. Each answer gets you one of these. How does that sound?”

“I just manage the desk, you know that, right?” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. Her eyes are as sharp as the tangle of fake roses around her headband. “I’m not going to do anything illegal.”

“That’s fine. Consider this just a service. If you don’t want the money, then you’re free to walk away.”

“Who said I wasn’t interested?”

“And that’s fine.” Lucilius snaps the rubber band off the bills and places the first one down on the table. Her eyes follow it, silently. “To change your name, all you need are court papers, right? And those are filed at your office?”

“That’s right, the petition and the order. Then basics like your birth certificate and the fees. We take care of that.”

Second bill. “And is that via paper or are things now done digitally?”

“Everything gets logged electronically. The physical papers need to get scanned, even if the originals are kept on file.”

Third. “Even for a name change that would happen about twenty years ago or so?”

“Oh no. I mean, basics, sure, but that was still the age of faxing. There might have been an electronic log, but nothing that goes into detail.”

Fourth. “But there would still be papers on file? With the person’s original name?”

“The office policy has keeps a record of about fifty years. All jammed into that dusty record room, thing hasn’t been swept in ages.”

Fifth. “And do you have access to the record room?”

“I think I can. But I’d need a reason, I can’t just waltz in there. And before you ask, I sure can’t take anything out.”

“That’s fine.” He slides the five bills forward towards her. She’s polite enough not to take it, but she doesn’t look away from them either. Or from his face. “That’s all yours. But how would you like to double that?”

“Now, that depends on what I have to do. Or maybe that should be doubled so I don’t talk about how someone was snooping around, hm?”

“Or you could take the money and get something nice for your friends. Perhaps flowers. A nice bouquet that you can’t afford on a government paycheck.”

Her lips twitch, pressed in the shape of a smile. “Perhaps.”

 

* * *

 

It’s dark when he makes his way to his car. He parked by the pier, and there aren’t many people out. The moon hangs high, only a thin stream of clouds obscuring his light. Lucilius has to squeeze his way down an alleyway, his feet crunching on the loose gravel.

A man watches Lucilius and starts making his way over, calling out something obscene.  

Lucilius reaches into his shoulder bag and pulls out a gun. 

The man sees the barrel trained on him and stops dead. He steps back, once, twice, and then stumbles, dropping to the floor. He doesn’t make to get up.

Nobody bothers Lucilius for the rest of the night. 

 

* * *

 

“That’s it?”

“That’s what the papers said. I doublechecked. That’s his old name.”

“The extra is all yours.”

He hangs up, waits a minute. Calls the office.

“Hello, Gaius Professional Investigations, how can I help you?” Gran today.

“It’s me. Jonah Clark, got his name changed in civil court fifteen years ago.”

Gran hums as he writes it out. “That’s him?”

“It’s possible.”

“He doesn’t look very much like a Jonah. Or a Clark.“

“Maybe that’s why he changed it.”

Gran laughs at that. “Maybe.”

Lucilius thinks about how Belial changed his name, cut off his family, became a totally different person than he was before. If Lucilius didn’t have several scientific papers cited with his name, he would’ve done the same long ago.  

The twins pulled up everything; old place of residence, birth certificate, arrest records. It’s a complicated story: Jonah Clark was raised by his parents, no siblings, but left his family when he was fourteen. He was legally adopted by a Mr. Brandon Miller; aged eighty-four at the time, wife deceased, no children or grandchildren. Jonah was homeschooled, and got into Princeton on full scholarship. 

Brandon Miller died a decade back, but the parents are still around. 

 

* * *

 

“I still don’t understand what you want.”

“I unfortunately can’t give too many details. That would be a breach of my client’s privacy, you understand. But you see I’m… gathering information.”

“For a lawyer?”

“No, nothing of the sort.”

“Good.” She curls her lips as she talks. “I’ve had enough of fucking lawyers.”

Lucilius doesn’t comment on that. “My client is a journalist, gathering material for a book that he’s writing.”

“What sort of book?”

“I can’t be specific with the details, but it has to do with jury bias.”

“Jury bias?”

“Correct, ma’am. My client has noticed in his many years of work that it’s often very easy to sway a jury. Not because of the facts presented in court, but of who’s on the stand. For example, divorce cases. Most of the time, the wife gets custody of the child, not because she has proven her competence, but because most people _expect_ women to be more competent in child care. Or if a prostitute gets hurt by her client. The jury thinks, she shouldn’t have been doing that anyway, so they’re already against her, even if she really did get hurt.”

The woman nods, following along but not casting judgment. 

“Then there are children. Children are innocent and surely must be telling the truth, correct? Any jury would go into a case thinking that, but there’s no guarantee.”

Now she’s listening. “And your client thinks that my… case could be one of those with bias?”

“That’s right. Of course, now it’s far too late to do anything about it, but his work could shed some light. Offer a new perspective to the public.”

She nods, tapping a finger on her knee. “But your client, why doesn’t he come here himself?”

“My client is a very busy person. Book writing is something he does aside from his regular work. He has many potential cases that he's looking into, but he has to gather more details. Slim things down. Only three or four cases can make the final cut. Publishers are quite strict about page limits.”

“And he’s okay, sending a freelancer out like this?”

“Well, I won’t complain.” He fakes an embarrassed smile. “My bills won’t pay themselves.”

“Your client told you the basics of my case?”

“Just the bare bones. I’m hoping you can offer me your perspective on things. Anyone can read court files, but there’s no promising that’s the unbiased truth.”

She leans back in her chair, sucking in a small breath. “Do you have children, Mr. Gaius?”

“I don’t. Perhaps one day,” he says, his biggest lie yet. 

“Well, let me tell you then. Every parent expects to have arguments with their children. That happens all the time. Sometimes kids do things that hurt their parents. But this? This, from Jonah, this was intentional.” Her eyes go dark, full of rage. “He wants to move out? Fine, we won’t stop him. But what he did? That was meant to hurt.”

“You say the charges were false.”

“I _know_ the charges were false. Abuse? I didn’t hurt a hair on his damn head. Neither did my husband. Some of the parents around here, they hit their children for discipline, you know? We didn’t do any of that. My Frank, he’s of the belief that physical discipline’s no good. Jonah, he knew that well, and he made that horrible fuss anyway.”

“You didn’t have problems?”

“Of course we had problems. Jonah didn’t have the best friends. He insisted on being out in the street, being part of some awful gangs… we’ve had to haul him home from the precinct a few times. But I can’t think of anything, _anything_ , that would make him say what he did.” Her finger taps more rapidly. “We should’ve had the trial here, in our town, where people _know_ us. Over there, all they knew was that old man.” 

“Mr. Miller, you mean?”

“Yeah, him. But that old man had a good lawyer. That lawyer set things up insanely— Jonah wasn’t even at the trial. ‘Seeing the parents would be unnecessary trauma for the victim.’ Give me a break. There was no trauma. I’ll take a hundred polygraphs to prove it. He drops off the face of the planet for years and when he comes back he pulls this on us? All those years we were gone, we thought he was dead. You know what it’s like to have your child suddenly gone, you don’t know what happened to him? Just one day here, the next day gone? The police did a search, everything. Nothing. Only he comes back and slaps us in the face with that.”

Lucilius thinks of Lucifer, and how sad his eyes get when he watches the news. He adjusts his face into a shadow of that, nodding visibly. “That must have felt like a betrayal.”

“It was. We weren’t the closest, I’ll admit that. Jonah didn’t always make the best decisions, and we fought all the time. But… nothing. Nothing to deserve that.”

“Did you ever try to contact Jonah after the case?”

“We wanted to. But that was just the anger talking. We wanted an explanation, but you know what? If that’s the kind of message he wants to send, then that’s not someone we want in our life. Even if it is my son.”

Lucilius goes over the typical criminal patterns in his head, testing to see if there are any matches. She could be lying, and there could be other explanations that could be true, but if he brings them up, she won’t talk. Lucio’s tactics— show sympathy, and that will be the best way to get someone to talk. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Ms. Clark.”

She shrugs, more from acceptance than indifference. “The community supported us, luckily. They knew the kind of people we were. If they didn’t…”

That doesn’t mean anything. It’s easy to hide the truth from neighbors. Lucilius nods. 

A brief glance around the living room shows no old artifacts of childhood. All the photos on display are just of the husband and wife. Jonah was their last child, and it doesn’t look they ever tried again. “I think my client might find your story interesting, and relevant.”

“So you think—“

“Possibly. I don’t want to give you any false hopes. But I do think it’s worth my client looking into it. Something isn’t right.”

“Why would my son run away from such a loving family, you mean?”

“There could have been many reasons. Miscommunication, for example. Some people need love, but their parents don’t know how to tap into their specific pipeline. It’s a communication breakdown. It happens.”

She nods, following along. 

“I won’t pretend to know why Jonah did such a thing. But I do think it’s strange. If he didn’t feel comfortable at home, that’s one thing. But him lying about it, that’s another. And the courts ate it up.”

“Yeah,” she mutters. “They sure did.”

Lucilius pulls out a folder, with printouts of the basic case information that the twins had sent over the day before. The only addition is a photo of Belial, mapped from predictive software and doctored to look like how he likely looked when he was young. Even then, it’s still obvious that Belial is Belial. “This is just procedure, but if you could look over the files, make sure that all the information we have is correct?” 

She thumbs through the files, saying nothing until she comes upon the photo. “Is this some kind of a joke?” Lucilius blinks. The anger on her face is real. “That’s our son’s name, but that’s not our son.”

He changes steps. “I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Clark. That’s another possible— I must have put it in the wrong folder.”

Her anger softens. “It’s alright.” She turns the photo over, looks the rest of the file over. “The rest is Jonah, alright. All but that picture.”

 

* * *

 

“That’s little Jonah.” The retired sergeant nods at the photo Lucilius took from the Clark household. He taps his hand on the coffee table, veins popping out. “I’m getting old, but they’re not putting me in a home yet. One of the neighborhood punks, used to be part of one of the gangs, the Blackjacks. Kind of troubled, the way a lot of kids get when they have too much time and not enough choices for their future.”

Lucilius says nothing. Sometimes the best thing to do is let people say their piece.

“The Clarks are a pretty decent family, but I guess even people like them can have a bad seed. Jonah kept rubbing with the wrong crowd, trying to prove himself. He’d fight whenever we had to bring him in, but that’s how it goes. They spend time inside the precinct, then when they come out, they’re heroes. Dumb kids throwing their lives away.”

Lucilius hands him the photo of Belial next. The sergeant's moustache twitches. “I remember that kid.”

“From that long ago?”

“I’ll be honest with you, not much happens around here. Just a lot of the usual. All the gangs flying colors have all been through this precinct at least once, and after a while, you get to know their faces. Even the big names, we know them too. That kid?” He raps his finger on Belial’s photo. “He wasn’t from around here.” The retired sergeant sits back, folding his hands together. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember now. Our boys had to go break up a brawl between the Flying Eagles and the Blackjacks, arrested a whole bunch of them. This kid came in with them, didn’t have ID or anything on him, nothing. It was a real pain dealing with him, had to call in a social worker and everything. The runaways always get like that.”

“And who was the social worker? From the neighborhood?”

“No, we had to call up the state, have one get sent down from a few towns over. A lady… what was her name… Evelyn at the front desk of the precinct would be able to tell you, I know we still kept her card on file.”

Lucilius gets up. “Thank you, detective, that’s all I need to know.” 

“Hold it there, Mr. PI. It’s not much, but I’m doing you a favor here. What do I get in return?”

“That brunette friend of yours that works out of the gentleman’s club by the harbor remains a secret between the two of us.”

The sergeant laughs. “That’ll do.”

 

* * *

 

“This is dangerous,” Djeeta’s tone is clipped with warning. “You can defend yourself, I know that. But you can’t punch down a bullet.”

“I am aware, yes.”

“And if you don’t walk out, what should we do?”

“Tell my brothers. They’ll know what to do.”

A two minute silence. “Tell Lucio what, exactly?”

“You can say I roped you into it. He’ll be upset for a while, but he’ll understand.”

“Look, you’re a real bastard, you know that? But you’re our bastard. You’d better walk out of there.”

“I will.” Once he puts his mind to something, it gets done, no matter the odds. He hangs up; having a live line on will kill him for sure. 

No sooner does he pull his car into the driveway, he’s surrounded by six men who don’t look like they’re here to chat. A thin man comes up to him and raps on the window.  “What do you want?”

“I’m here to talk to Apollo.”

“The lady’s occupied right now. And I’ve never seen you before.”

“New business.”

“What kind?”

“You think your lady is going to appreciate you talking about her business out here?” He looks at the thin man hard, to show he’s memorizing his face too.

The men exchange looks. “Wait here,” the thin man says, and one of them goes back into the house. Lucilius keeps his hands on the wheel, waiting. He’s not in a hurry. 

A few minutes later, a man emerges from the house. “Out of the car. Follow us.”

Lucilius keeps his arms at his side, hands visible, as he lets the men lead him inside. They stop him in the foyer, blocking his path just in case he tries to slip past. “We’re going to have to—”

But Lucilius already has his jacket off. “Do what you will.”

They pat him down, quick and professional. One of the men reaches inside his jacket’s inner pocket, feels what’s inside, raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t take it. Smart. They do take his wallet, but all they’ll find in there are fake cards.

The thin man hands him his jacket back, jerks his head as an indication to follow. Lucilius puts his jacket back on; even if the house is warm, he’s not walking in with just a button-down. The men watch and wait. They’re not giving him any opportunities.

The living room has all wooden furniture, dark fabrics. The only spots of color in the room are the thick white curtains, and the blue glass of the coffee table. The lights are on, but it feels like the sunlight coming through the window hasn’t warmed the room at all. In front of a dead fireplace, sitting in a plush armchair, is Apollo. She is dressed fairly casually, no surprise considering it’s the weekend, but whatever mood she had before the unannounced visit has since soured.

Making his way over, the man who took Lucilius’ wallet hands it over to her. She takes it, flips through his cards, says nothing. He won’t speak first. She throws his wallet back. Her voice is deep, water at the bottom of a dead lake. “I fail to see what kind of business you have with me.”

“All I need is some questions answered. You look at two things, I ask you a few questions, and that’s all I need.”

“That doesn’t sound like anything worth my time.”

He reaches into his jacket pocket and tosses her a roll of bills, all fifties. She catches it with one hand. “Answer them, and that’s all yours.”

She nods, the pretense of thinking. “You were at the old captain’s house earlier. And the precinct.”

He returns her unmoving gaze. “What are you trying to say?”

“Why would anyone who goes to them want something with us?”

“I came in the front, didn’t I? Let your men search me? If I was planning something, why would I go through all the trouble to let you do things your way?”

Apollo nods, thumbing the band. “Let’s say you do have a legitimate proposal. What if I’m not interested?”

“Then I’ll take my money back and leave.”

“What if you walk out and I don’t return this?”

“You wouldn’t want that.”

“Why not?” one of the young men behind her sneers. “You have the cavalry waiting outside or something?”

“No. But you know what I do have?” Lucilius leans forward. “I have people that know where I am and what I’m doing. If we don’t reach a deal and I walk out of here, it doesn’t make a difference to them. But if I don’t walk out of here, then that becomes their problem.”

Apollo waves her hand, a sign to continue. He hands her a photo of Jonah. She looks at it, doesn’t pass it around. “Even this,” she rolls the wad between her fingers, “Isn’t enough for what you’re asking.”

He sighs. Nothing out of his range of expectations, but he knows how to pretend like he’s being pushed to the wall. “Alright. But you have some details?”

“I might.”

“Yes or no is enough. If it’s yes, then we can negotiate further. If it’s no, then the basics will do.”

She watches him, studying his expression. She won’t get anything. “You have something to offer me?” 

“I do. You got into an accident a few years ago.” He’s not the best judge of physical appearances, but he can tell that Apollo’s a beautiful woman, even with those horrible burn scars. A car bomb took half of Apollo’s face and sent her then-girlfriend to the hospital. The girlfriend is still there, not in a coma, but she needs an oxygen tank to keep her lungs going every few hours. “Tell me what I need to know, and I’ll give a name.”

If looks could kill, Lucilius’ throat would have been torn clean free. “And how would someone like you know?”

“I do my research. With proof, of course. Answers for answers.”

“Truthful answers.”

“I am a professional. I’m not a saint, but if I start giving clients false information, that’s death to my business right there.”

She waves a hand.

“Jonah used to be with you?”

“He was a hard worker, ambitious kid. And stupid. Little Jonah thought that if I was gone, he could run things around here.” Her razor-sharp smile tells him exactly what she thought of that. 

“So he’s not going to bother you anymore?”

“That’s not something you need to worry about.” She lights a cigarette, doesn’t offer him one. “But it seems the Clarks had some legal trouble down the road. But that’s not my problem either.”

“If someone is reanimating the dead, that’s less trouble in the long-term?”

“Identity theft is a common enough scam. The Clarks have a good chunk of real estate. Once they die, it would all go to Jonah. But the thief didn’t try well enough, the family cut him off from their will after the trial. He won’t get a single penny from their house or their land. Amateur.”

Or they just weren’t interested. He hands her the mugshot of Belial. She takes a little longer to reply. “He’s from out of town.”

“Did you meet him?”

“Some of my associates did, a long time ago. As far as I know, he’s only been in town twice.”

“The first time was the arrest, when that photo was taken.”

“He wasn’t with us the first time. The next time, it seemed he was by himself again. He cashed in a favor.”

“What favor?”

“When he was in lockdown together with my associates, he helped get everyone’s stories together. It was a good one, airtight. The cops couldn’t hit them with any charges, even if they tried. In exchange, when he came back, he wanted to get dead, on paper. We evened the score.”

Lucilius gets to his feet, takes the photos back. “That’s all I need.”

“Satisfied with the results?”

“I believe so.” And he gives her a name.

“Freesia?” Apollo’s face goes dark with fury. “She would. That damn woman would. But how do you—”

He rattles off a few numbers and a company name. “An offshore for a car meddler, one you made sure won’t bother anyone else either. And if you look into the records a few months before the incident, there’s a transaction comes from a shell. I’m sure she can tell you the rest.”

“I’m sure she will.” Apollo looks at him, hard. “Our business is done. But if I see you again or any of this leaks, then I’ll have some questions for you.”

“Sure,” he says, buttoning his jacket. “As far as I’m concerned, I didn’t meet anyone, and I didn’t hear anything. But if I see you again, then you won’t do business with anyone, ever.”

 

* * *

 

He checks out of the hotel, pays the full charges in cash. Smiles at the clerk. Buys a couple of fruit snacks from the basket at the front desk. 

He’s on the road in less than an hour. 

 

* * *

 

Her house was a small one in town, decently sized but not too fancy. Middle-class neighborhood. He hasn’t seen anyone coming in or out of the front door. That matches up with the twins’ information: Michael Burnett had retired, and lives alone. He’s switched out of his suit for something more business casual, and keeps a briefcase on him. The neighbors might say something, but no doubt they’re used to seeing a whole assortment of people at her door. 

He knocks a few times, and waits once he hears a person shuffling inside. “Who is it?”

“Ms. Burnett? My name is Adam Gaius, ma’am. I’m a private investigator. I have a few questions that I’d like to ask you.”

He can feel her watching him through the peephole, so he stays very still, letting her get a look at him. Enough, but not too good. “What sort of questions?”

“The person I’m working for is looking into one of your former cares. We’re trying to create a profile, understand what they were like growing up. You seemed like one of the experts that would really help our case.”

“Accused of something or defending?”

“I don’t believe that’s something I should say outside in the street.”

She opens the door, but the chain stays on. She’s taller than he is, and the hard lines on her face don’t show her age. He could tell she’s the kind of person that trusts herself more than anything that he could show her. “I’m not working cases anymore, but I know my rights. Any information on the children I worked with, that’s confidential. Get me a court order, and then we’ll talk.”

 

* * *

 

“Getting a fake court order’s going to be tough.” Djeeta grumbles over the phone. There’s some music playing in the background, sounds like something from a game. He knows she can multitask better than anyone else on the planet. “Do you know any judges in that area, anyway?”

“No, but I know Lucio does.”

“I thought you didn’t want him involved.”

“A call from you is a call from Lucio. Everyone knows that.”

Djeeta scoffs, amused. “I guess that’s true. But that’s using up one of Lucio’s potential favors, and that’s not cheap. Even if he probably isn’t going to be using any of those in this area, that’s still messing with something of his, you know?”

“How’s your luck in getting with my brother lately?”

The sigh over the line means a long story’s coming. “Am I going crazy? I didn’t think anyone could be this dense. Gran and I, we have a bet whenever we drive the car, one of us takes the wheel, and the other one sits in the back with Lucio. I won, and the whole time I have my hand on his leg and he keeps on having a normal conversation like it’s not even there. And then there’s the day before yesterday when he—”

He cuts her short. If not, they’d be on the phone for hours. That certainly does sound like Lucio though, who is surprisingly observant and still doesn’t know much about anything. “Or maybe I could give him a few hints.”

“You really think that he’s going to notice anything you say when nothing we’ve done has worked? Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but you’re a little too subtle for him. Maybe if you hit him with the information using a neon sledgehammer. Hm, actually…”

“You know we don’t get along. Our relationship is bad enough that if I say something to him— anything, he’ll hang on to every word.”

“Sure, but he already knows you like us.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Yeah, okay,” she says in that same tone she uses when someone in a meeting says something particularly stupid. 

“If I insult you two, he’ll jump to defend you.”

“You insult everyone though. That’s not special. Actually, have you ever given a compliment in your life? That’s not about Lucifer?”

He ignores that. “But he will defend you. He’ll make a dreadful fuss over you two.” Lucio’s brain to mouth filter only works when he’s keeping secrets. “And he will tell you both when he goes to you to inevitably complain about it. You can press him then.”

A long pause on the other end. “…Huh. You know, that just might work. Aww, you do care about us. We’ll get you your court order. I’ll give you something nice in exchange too, something to help spice up your passionate love life. Er… apathetic love life.”

“Enough with your useless trivialities.”

“Come on. You’re doing all this investigative work to prove a point?”

“Yes.” What else would it be?

Djeeta snorts. “You don’t even realize it, do you? You’re doing all this just because you want to know about him.”

“Right…”

“Not to blackmail him. To know about him.”

“I will absolutely hold it over him… where are you going with this?”

She sighs, and he can hear her headphones clatter in the background. “You know, for a smart guy, you’re kind of dumb.”

 

* * *

 

“Thank you so much for seeing me today.”

Michael looks at the court order one more time, squinting at the signature. Seeing nothing wrong with it, even after the fifth time, she puts it down between the open folders and the overflowing ashtray. Her eyes are cutting as she looks at him and says, “So what exactly are you trying to do?”

“I’ve been hired by a firm conducting a study on the foster care system in this country. Overall, they want to see where the system has its issues and if there’s a consistent pattern.”

“And is that why you came to me?”

“No, certainly not. Your track record proves that you were more than competent at your job. Especially a job as hard as this one. The issue, my client believes, is not in the individuals, but the system. The efforts of a competent individual can make things a lot better, but that isn’t always the case.” He leans forward. “That’s why they want me to talk to you, Ms. Burnett. You have helped many children, and we have heard your name recommended by former cares and peers alike. However, in your record, you have—“

“A failure.” 

“Nobody believes that everyone can have a perfect track record. Some people simply are unlucky with each other. But if your work with this boy can help us further pinpoint some systemic failures, then it would be invaluable.”

She takes a long drag from her cigarette. “Your client plans on doing their research?”

“Not to be callous, but not all academic institutions have the funding needed to conduct large sociological studies. Sometimes privately funded research is necessary as well, and—“

“I know what you’re going to say.” She looks at the court order once more, and sighs. “What do you want to know?”

“What was he like? Clearly he had… a bit of trouble. Was it few connections to his peers? Lack of support?”

“No, quite the opposite.” She draws a breath in deep through her nose and slowly exhales. “He was very sociable. He had charisma, that kid. He knew what to say to make people like him or not. He’s the best liar I’ve ever seen, to this day.”

“Kids lie.”

She looks flatly at him, clearly not impressed. “I have a masters in child psychology. I know when a kid is lying to me. He lied constantly, sometimes for no reason at all. He was in a good foster home, and yes, kids do lie. But they don’t all need to lie so much. He was brilliant. But he loved to see how people tick.”

“Sounds like a troublemaker.”

“I suppose you could put it like that. He did love giving me a hard time. We fought every time I had to drag him out of a home. There were a lot of homes, and he never fit in with several group cares. I had to take him on myself once, for a year. And his nicknames…” She rolls her eyes. 

Well, that hasn’t changed. “It was all bad?”

She shakes her head, and an ache goes into her eyes, one that dies before her throat. “No kid is born bad. Anyone who tells you that is just looking for an excuse. Children are made, molded. Whatever happened to him before he came into the system is none of your business, and no court order is going to make me tell you. But I will say that disappointment adds up. You probably think I’m a hard woman, and that’s fine, think whatever you want. No matter how frustrating a kid is, I’d never wish for anything bad to happen to them. I did my best to make sure that it didn’t.”

“Perhaps then the families he was matched with. Perhaps a poor first experience. Not traumatic, just ill-fitted.”

“No, that’s not it.” Her voice holds firm.

“You have a lot of confidence.”

“We did a lot of work on family matching. There’s a lot of people who really want to help, but there’s plenty of trash out there too.” There’s nothing but relentlessness in her voice. “But he didn’t have any bad experiences with his foster families, nothing that would cause trauma.”

“Besides the usual.”

“I won’t pretend that the system is perfect. The feelings of inferiority a foster child can have will at times run deep. But…” She exhales a line of smoke. “I wonder. But no matter how much a troublemaker a kid is, they don’t deserve to end up dead. And that’s how things ended up.”

 

* * *

 

Gran picks up on the second ring. “What are we checking?”

“Michael Burnett, she’s a case worker.” He gives a name, a dead name. “She should have been supervising him. I want you to look into any adoptive parents he might have had. Names, addresses, professions. And at least one of the families who adopted him, there’s one that she knows. A friend, maybe.” Nobody has that much confidence in a stranger, unless they’re not actually a stranger. 

“Is that allowed? Giving a foster kid to a friend?” comes Djeeta’s voice in the background, faint.

“As long as they pass qualifications, it is,” Gran says. “You got it, boss.”

The twins have the information to him in less than two days. No wonder Lucio keeps them around.

It doesn’t take very long sifting through Michael’s social media to find a match— a Gabriel. They’re in a lot of photos together, always close. Gabriel’s always smiling sweetly at the camera, where Michael’s sternness is a 50/50 hit rate. An easy formula to solve.

 

* * *

 

“You probably think I’m crazy, working pediatrics and still wanting a kid,” says the woman sitting across from him. Her caught her on the tail end of her break, and she’s still in her nurse’s scrubs. Her pale pink hair is down now, but from how it curls around her face, she probably keeps it tied back most of the time. “But I haven’t been seeing anyone for years, work ruined that. Adoption was my best bet.”

“I understand. Miss—”

She waves her hand. “You don’t need to be so formal. Gabriel is fine.”

He nods his head, thanking her for the politeness. 

When Lucilius slides the photo of Belial forward, she widens her eyes a bit. She nods, a sad fondness going into her face. “I've known Mika-chan for a long time, and when I mentioned I wanted children, she had me covered. She told me that she had a special kid, who needed a good home. Hospital hours are tough, but I made it work. I wanted a child so badly…”

Lucilius gives her ten seconds, and then, “And that was him.”

She nods. “He was young when he came to me. I’m not sure what he went through before he came to me, I never asked. It took him a long time to open up, even a little. It wasn’t easy, he was a bright young boy.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh! It’s not a bad thing, I knew right away he was going to do great things. But when you’re smart, you know all the tricks— or at least, what you think are tricks.”

If Lucilius thought anything of that, he didn’t let it show on his face.

“You know some kids just need a hand. They need someone to tell them that the world isn’t all bad— that there’s more than just monsters out there. Mika-chan always told me I was sweet. I wanted it to work out.” She sighs, dejected. “I told him, the first day I brought him in, that this would be his forever home. I tried. I tried my best, I really did.”

Lucilius sits quietly, waiting for her to finish. She takes a moment, the flecks of melancholy in her eyes too deep to be fake. When she speaks again, she has that patience to her, one no doubt fostered from years working with patients. “But it didn’t work out. Even when you reach out, it’s not up to you whether they take your hand. Well, that’s just the way things are sometimes, but I wish…”

“Did something happen?”

She shakes her head. “I like to think it was because he was… getting older. Rebellious. He wasn’t like this at first, I thought he was just troubled, working out being in a new home. But then he would act up, more than he should have. I can handle arguments. But one time, in the school gym, he set fire to one of the wooden blocks— not because he wanted to hurt anyone, I could tell if he was thinking that— but because he was curious. He wanted to see how people would react. The police had to come in, it was a mess. I tried to understand, but I knew from how he spoke he’d do it again. I…” She takes a small breath, “I knew then that when he hit his teenage years, I wouldn’t be able to control him. I wanted to care for him, but if he wanted to be dangerous, he would be and there’d be no way I could stop that. And that… that scared me.”

There’s a tense smile on her face then. “I told Mika-chan about my worries one day, and she’s a fierce girl. She pulled the plug on it right away. I had to break the news to him myself… I wouldn’t want to promise a home and then take it away, but… Mika-chan works with these kids all the time, maybe she knew something I didn’t. Her word was final. Mika-chan told me not to be too hard on myself. It took a long time but I tried again.” She brightens up a little at that, proud. “The next time, I found my darling Europa. She was shy at first, but she’s my girl now. She’s going to swim varsity finals next week. But you know, sometimes I wonder…”

“Figuring out what you could’ve done?”

“Yes! Yes, exactly… I asked Mika-chan for updates, I know I’m not supposed to, but I was so worried. The older you are, the lower your chances for re-adoption get.”

“Sometimes there’s nothing you can do.”

She watches his face then, stern. “There’s always something you can do. Everyone wants to connect with someone. But I hope he found someone to connect with. Even though that someone wasn’t me.”

 

* * *

 

“I’d say the first and the last.”

That’s what he was thinking too. Michael had mentioned disappointments, and what bigger disappointments than the first failure and the final straw. Maybe the inbetween families had something to say, but he sincerely doubts it. “Good, our hypotheses match up. But more important things. The conversation I had last time. I know you and your sister talk. Explain it to me.”

Gran pauses, searching his memory. “Uh. Okay, so we were trying to get your brother to notice us by—”

“Not that.”

“Oh, how you’re dense. Well, I hate to say it, but you are. Just a little.”

“I can take your insults, but I need to know what she meant.”

Gran giggles as he shifts the phone. “You haven’t figured it out for yourself?”

He is the politer one of the two, but he does love his teasing as much as Djeeta does. “No.”

“Okay, let’s imagine some what-if scenarios. So, you’re doing all this— and you’re not doing this for blackmail or for one-upping. Would you do that for your friends?”

“I don’t have any friends.”

“Right. Alright, would you do that for your dad?”

“No.”

“For us?”

“No.”

“For Lucio?”

“Absolutely not.”

“For Lucifer?”

“Lucifer would never go to such lengths to hide things from me. He’s open, he would show me if he was having some problems.”

“Calm down! These are what-ifs, remember?” Lucilius exhales through his nose, listening. “So let’s say he did. Would you do this for him?”

“Yes.”

“Because you care about him. You’d want to know about him because you care for him, right?”

“…What’s your point?”

“Alright, let’s use some transitive property here. You would go to such lengths for Lucifer because you care about him. Then you’re doing all this right now because…”

Lucilius hangs up the phone.

 

* * *

 

The new hotel could use some repairs. It’s trying to be more upscale than it actually is, with a polished entryway but stained wallpaper upstairs. The mattress is soft, but they’re the kind that will compress over a few months. He has time, so he throws the covers over himself and thinks.

The twins said he wouldn’t do this for anyone. They’re right. Belial is a puzzle that he wants to solve himself. 

He’s always hated mysteries. Even as a child, he wanted to know the whys and hows of everything. Breaking apart his toys and Father’s gadgets to see how they worked, from wooden joints to tiny circuit boards. He’d do it to the living too, except Lucifer made a face when Lucilius had caught a sparrow in his hand and told the truth about what he planned on doing with it. He’d made a face also when they found roadkill on the side of the path and Lucilius had stopped to cut it open. Since then, investigating the living was only allowed in lab, or in biology books.

There were other ways to pry open the hows and whys from the living too. His father had taught him well. Speech and declarations could show peoples’ innards just as easily as an autopsy would. Words are power, and with the right ones, anyone could be persuaded to do anything. That’s business, reaching into someone and digging out all they are and all that they want. Father is a very successful businessman. 

He doesn’t need to manipulate Belial, not really. Belial would do what Lucilius asks on a normal day. But there are secrets. Belial’s not Lucilius’ enemy, not anymore. He is something unique, an outlier, a deviation from the expected. Lucilius needs more data. He needs to know. 

The bed is wide and empty. He stacks all the extra pillows on one side. He doesn’t need all this space to himself. 

 

* * *

 

He was never interested in sports, but Lucifer was. When Lucifer was still in varsity fencing, he told his big brothers about his teammates and was really impressed by his captain, Siegfried, who wanted to go pro. The captain was the best person on the team, no question about it, and had been training since he was a kid. He trained at the same gym every day, and went Lucifer dropped by once to say hello, he was surprised at how plain it was- no fancy equipment, no money in the architecture, nothing. The captain explained that it wasn’t the equipment he was after, just a place to work without anyone bothering him, or trying to posture.

This is one of those places; sparse, but enough that people can work comfortably. There are a few people practicing on the punching bags, but only two people are in the ring; a redheaded woman on the offense, sparring with a thin man with lavender hair, landing sharp blows on his protective gear. 

He makes his way to the ring, ducking under one of the ropes. “Alexiel Lilianna?”

She pauses at the sound of her name, lowering her gloves, careful eyes watching. “Who’s asking?”

“Adam Gaius, I just have a few questions.” He sticks his hand through for a handshake, business card stuck between two of his fingers.

“If you want an interview, you have to go through my agent.”

“I’m not a journalist.”

She plucks his card and stands sturdy and immovable. “Are you writing a book?”

“No. It’s about your brother.”

Alexiel quirks an eyebrow, looking to her sparring partner. 

“Not him.”

“Did Sariel do something?”

“Not him either.”

Her face turns into steel. 

Her brother makes his way over, shedding his boxing equipment. “What’s going on?” he squeaks, eager. “Something happen?”

“This man here, a detective, he says he has some information on him.”

“Him? You mean Sally?”

She looks at him, and he takes a moment to realize, his face going hard. 

When she turns back to Lucilius, she is all business, warrior’s eyes. “Let’s speak somewhere else.”

 

* * *

 

In a wooden diner off the side of the road and next to a thin river, Lucilius drinks his coffee. He’s already finished his plate of hash browns in a matter of minutes, a skill cultivated from years of shoveling his lunch into his mouth to get back to work as soon as possible. The siblings glance incredulously at his empty plate, wondering where it all went, but neither of them want to say anything. 

“I tried to speak to your fathers, but it seems they aren’t around.”

“They’re on their third honeymoon,” Grimnir explains, mouth full of strawberry pancakes. 

“Didn’t know you could have more than one.”

“Most people don’t. But theirs is still alive after all this time! It’s passionate, inspiring! To keep the flame of love alive for years, that is no mere task. They say that a relationship is compromise and indeed it is, but there is also trust and togetherness that all seek out but only the bravest manage to find—”

Lucilius wonders if it’s too early in the day to order something from the bar. 

Alexiel pats Grimnir on the back, making him quiet down. She’s stiff, but clearly in control. She agreed to the meeting, but not before she called the office to ask a few basic questions— anonymously, of course. Fame has made her cautious, no doubt she’s had more than enough run-ins with the press dying to glean some secrets from an Olympic boxer. Too bad he’s even more cautious than she is. 

As for Grimnir, he’s a… poet. Not one that publishes in formal publications, but one that’s gotten popular through photo-based social media. Lucilius had to get the twins to explain what that meant, and he’s still not sure if he understands. He doesn’t really need to understand. 

The volume of words that Grimnir can get out in one breath stuns Lucilius, but he notes a few things: any couple going on multiple honeymoons has a good relationship with each other, and any child that speaks enthusiastically about their parents’ marriage has a good relationship with them. 

“The family is doing well, I assume.”

“We are!”

“Same as any other,” Alexiel says, cutting a slice of her omelet. 

Lucilius keeps his face even. “It’s your two parents, both of you, and one other, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Then there’s—“

“Yes.” Alexiel’s expression grows grave. “A long time ago. We were both in... high school, when he left.”

This is a particular anomaly, for no matter how hard Lucilius searches, it seems as if the Liliannas _are_ a perfectly normal family. Alexiel and Grimnir are from their fathers’ previous marriages, and had officially become a family when both children were starting out high school. Sariel had been adopted at a similar age, and there were no further efforts to return him to foster care. Both parents have stable jobs, pay their bills on time, no outstanding debts. Even the family home’s mortgage has been entirely paid off, good insurance. At least from how it looks on paper, theirs is the kind of family that one would try to stay with, not run away from. 

“Alex and I got along just fine,” Grimnir chirps. “I guess after a while dad wanted more?”

“That was your idea,” Alex sighs, stirring her coffee. “You said you wanted a little brother. They took you seriously.”

Grimnir chokes on his pancakes. “ _That’s why?_ ”

“You truly didn’t notice?”

“And you haven’t had any issues with Sariel?” Lucilius steers the conversation to his side. 

Alexiel nods solemnly. “There were some issues adjusting to the family at first, but that’s no surprise. It was an adjustment period for us all. All of Sariel’s worse behavioral issues dwindled once _he_ left.”

“I don’t get it,” Grimnir chews around a mouthful of food. “I didn’t have anything against him. We were all teenagers back then, and the foolishness of teenagers knows no bounds. But Sally loves the guy. Sally would say he’s the best thing that ever happened and… I don’t see it.”

“It doesn’t matter. He left. And if only he was still walking, I’d beat him into the ground.”

Grimnir’s expression softens. “Alex…”

“Not for me. For Sariel.” She’d bend her fork in half if she could. “He was Sariel’s world, and he walked away without saying goodbye. That’s the _least_ he deserves.”

Crossing his arms, Grimnir lets out a low mumble. “Hrmmmm, I guess. It was always a great trial to discover what he was thinking. I don’t believe he wanted us to know.”

Alexiel checks her watch— conversation’s over. She puts enough money on the table to cover her and her brother, and looks Lucilius hard in the eye. “Listen close and listen well. I was skeptical when dad said he wanted more children; he’d recently remarried, and Grimnir was part of our family now. But dad, he has a big heart. He’s always looking out for people and the way he understood things, if he has the capability and financial means to care for more, then it’s worth a try. So after a few months, he brought home Sariel. And him.”

“Four children is a lot.”

“Dad’s got a lot of energy,” she admits. “Him and Sariel were inseparable, on Sariel’s end particularly. Or so we thought. One morning, we all wake up and he’s gone. And then a year later, the police show up with a death certificate. They had a lot of questions for us, but that wasn’t the problem. Sariel was devastated. He’d kept waiting, expecting that he’d be back, but now there’s proof that he’s gone for good. He didn’t even believe that news for a long time. What were we supposed to do? I’m not going to tell my brother that someone he cared for so much is really dead. But I couldn’t let him keep believing a lie either.” She inhales deeply. Fury is an energy, and she is bright with it. “He knows it now though. He’s been through enough already. So you’d better have a good reason for bringing this up again.”

 

* * *

 

The zoo is busy today, but not too busy that he has to squeeze his way through a crowd. He spots an employee cleaning one of the artificial rivers. She’s close enough to the gate that he’s able to wave her down. “Hello, sorry for troubling you,” he says, politeness at maximum, “but I was looking for Sariel. Do you happen to know where he is?”

“Sariel?” She squints at him, protective. “How come?”

It’s dangerous to give employee information out to strangers. He anticipated this. “Sorry, I’m a family friend, I’m visiting town for a bit. Grimnir thought he was working today, and I was hoping I could stop by and say hello.”

“Huh. Okay.” He’s not sure if she believes him, but she believes him enough to shout over her shoulder at the bird enclosure. “Mal!” A wavy-haired brunette pops out, rake with bedding still stuck to it in hand. “Is Sariel on break?”

“He got off break an hour ago!” the woman calls back. 

The blonde nods, turns back to Lucilius. “If you go down past the reptile house, there’s a small brick building; that’s the Bug House. He should be in the Insect Petting Zoo.”

Petting insects? He’s not going to question it. He thanks her for her time and follows the map. 

For such a strange sounding exhibit, there’s a decent line. Even though it’s an hour from closing, children are still eagerly lined up outside the room. He merges into the end of the line and waits his turn.

Under supervision, each of the children get to hold one of the insects in their small hands, cupping them happily as the insects crawl and skitter all over. He idly makes his way through the isles, his eyes not on the insects but on the employees' name tags. 

He finds Sariel by the beetles, holding a Hercules beetle out to a young girl. He’s a reed-thin man with his long hair down to his hips even with it tied back. 

“Sariel?” he says, and the man turns his way. To say Sariel is tall is an understatement— he’s downright enormous. Lucilius always felt small compared to his brothers who have a full head of height on him, but he feels completely dwarfed in Sariel’s presence. Sariel stares at Lucilius, waiting for more.

He hands Sariel his card, gives the same introduction he gave to the siblings. “I need to talk to you about your brother.”

“I don’t…” He speaks slowly, like the words get stuck from his brain to his mouth. “I… think he should be at home.”

“Not Grimnir.”

Sariel freezes, nearly dropping the beetle. “I’m still on the clock. I can’t just…”

“Is there a cafe you like to go to? Or a restaurant? Somewhere to sit and talk.”

Sariel is stone-stiff, looking blankly at Lucilius. The beetle on his hand tries to crawl up his sleeve. It manages to wedge half its body in before Sariel plucks it out and carefully puts it back in its enclosure. “I know one place.”

“Good. Tell me the address and I’ll meet you there.”

 

* * *

 

Lucilius remembers the hole in the wall that Belial took him to the first time, empty enough that they couldn’t be heard and close enough to the door to run if something goes wrong. 

Sariel doesn’t share the same sensibilities. The cafe he’s picked out is packed tight with people, especially around the outlets where the silent fight to be the first to plug in their power cords is in full effect. Their table is in the middle of a man in a suit inputting numbers into a spreadsheet as he grumbles on the phone and a high school girl thumbing through her phone as she waits for someone who clearly is running late. 

Politely, Sariel sips at his coffee. Lucilius’ remains in front of him, untouched. They haven’t said anything since they met, and while Lucilius can tell Sariel isn’t a talkative person, he has no idea how to start the conversation. Even though Sariel’s eyes look unfocused and the dark circles are an evident sign of exhaustion, he’s watching Lucilius’ face intently. The hands around the plastic cup are covered in small scars.

His father always said that the first to talk in discussions is the most eager. Always better to be the one waiting. But Sariel isn’t negotiating— he’s fine with the silence. They’ll be here another four hours if Lucilius doesn’t say something. “Your brother.”

Sariel nods. Swallows hard. “Isn’t he… dead?”

“I want to know what he was like when he was with you,” Lucilius says, sidestepping the question. “You don’t look like him.”

“We didn’t have the same parents. We came from the same place.” He doesn’t clarify any further than that. He doesn’t really need to. “Alex told me you’d be contacting me.”

Of course she did. “How long did you know each other?” He asks, sidestepping the issue before the moment is ruined. 

Sariel looks into his cup, thinking. “Years. I’m not sure… it blends after a while. We waited a long time.” According to the records he pulled up on Sariel, he didn’t get adopted until he was sixteen. A long time indeed. “But I knew him a while. He was family. When Mr. Uriel signed the papers, then nobody could say we weren’t family. But then--”

“He left.”

Sariel’s hands start to shake, and the cup slips from his grasp. It hits the table, but there’s not much left inside, so only a trickle of coffee spills out. He watches the growing stain mutely, then finds his fingers and wipes it up. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling too good…”

“Should we talk again tomorrow?”

“I… okay.”

 

* * *

 

“Do you like insects, Mr. Gaius?”

“They’re part of nature, same as anything else.”

Sariel nods, wraps his jacket a little tighter around him. It’s the springtime, but there’s still a chip of winter in the air. Someone reed-thin like Sariel would absorb the cold. All the trees in the park don’t get rid of the chill. “I like them. They work hard, and they don’t think… they do think. But they think very differently than people.”

“They work hard?”

“Yes. They only think of their work. They’re told to do something, they do it, they eat, they sleep, they die. A simple life.”

Lucilius can think of a lot of people who think like that, content to be cogs in a machine. “You sound envious.”

“I guess. Insects don’t hurt. Well, they do, but they don’t hurt the way we do. They aren’t happy the way we are, so I’m… not sure. Like good and bad, they don’t think about that. You think he’s a bad person, don’t you?”

“It’s my job not to make judgments.”

Sariel places another piece of sandwich down on the ground, watching the ants scurry around it. “A lot of people thought he was a bad person. Trouble. They always told me to stay away from him, that he was no good. That’s wrong.”

“He was good to you?”

“He’d sit and listen to me. He didn’t have to, it’s not like I have much to say, but he thought I had a lot to say. It… helped.”

“Confidence?”

Sariel shakes his head. “No, it’s more like… um, if nobody asks you what you want, then you start not wanting anything. It’s easier. But he kept talking to me and I started to get that I did have a lot to say. Nobody really asked beforehand, people just assumed…”

“That you were one thing.”

“Yes. So talking with him became easier. Became better. Have you ever had something like that?”

Lucilius makes a sound in the back of his throat, tears into the last of his sandwich. His teeth don’t rip through the roast beef and bread nearly as viciously as Lucilius would like. “People think I’m one thing when I’m not.”

The ants have started gnawing at the tomato. “He’d get adopted from time to time, but he’d always come back. I think people didn’t get him.”

“Did you get him?”

“I don’t know. I like to think so, but I don’t know anymore. But I think he got me.”

“But you both did get adopted one day, by the Liliannas.”

Sariel’s mouth wrinkles, like he’s suppressing some unrecognizable emotion. “Yes. It was... very different. Mr. Uriel came and talked to me for a very long time. Over a lot of different days. He’s a good person, both him and Mr. Raphael, I know it.” He leans over, knocking a stray branch into the water. “I know it now.”

“Was the,” he doesn’t want to instantly say orphanage, “previous home not sufficient?”

“The house family was very nice. Even with a lot of us, they tried to pay attention to us. But the kids, sometimes…” Sariel crumbles a piece of bread and scatters it across the ground. “Also… it’s scary.”

“Didn’t you want to get adopted?”

“I did. But it’s more like… he said— I remember this very well— that there are a lot of good families out there. But all I’d need to do is get adopted by one bad one, and I’d be dead.”

“But you were adopted.”

“Mr. Uriel was so nice. Most people when they come looking, they hear me talk and they lose interest. So when he came to me, I thought he was… you know. Pitying me. But then he came back. Again, and again, always wanting to see me. Not anyone else, but me. It was scary at first, but he meant it. And Ms. Michael always told me that if someone proves themselves, then I’m being rude by doubting them.”

“And you’re a Lilianna now.”

“Yes.” Sariel places another piece of his sandwich on the ground. “My family.”

 

* * *

 

“Mr. Gaius, are you angry?”

Lucilius pauses. Sariel is worn down from Lucilius taking him all over, never to crowded places, but his defenses are still up. His eyes are still working. “Why do you say that?”

“Maybe I’m wrong, but… it looks like you’re, I’m not really sure how to say it, but your smile isn’t really a smile. It’s like… what’s supposed to be, but it isn’t. You feel like you’re angry, deep down, all the time.”

“Hm. I’m not angry at you.”

“Not at me, at… I don’t know. Maybe I’m thinking too hard, but I knew people like that. You feel like them sometimes.”

Lucilius watches the ripples in the pond. One of the remote-controlled boats swivels into a beam of sunlight that brightens its white sails. A sudden urge to vomit coils in the back of Lucilius’ throat. He wants nothing more than to throw some chemicals into Sariel’s eyes so he couldn’t see, but he needs answers. A small amount of discomfort for long-term profit. “You think so?”

“Just like that. Right then. Your eyes went hard.”

Lucilius stays still on the bench, silent. 

“He was like that too.”

Lucilius quirks an eyebrow. People have said he and Belial are many things, similar is not one of them. 

“He’d smile a lot, but it never felt real. He liked making people uncomfortable. Anyone can put on a good face, but how people really are comes out when they get angry, and how they try to fix it afterward. That’s… kind of what you do, don’t you?”

“Well, I think it’s a lot easier for people to talk to me if they’re not angry at me. I don’t really like being yelled at.”

Sariel mumbles, “When people are loud, I want them to stop. He didn’t seem to mind, though. Even after Mr. Uriel and Mr. Raphael took us in, he kept making trouble. Always, more than usual.” Sariel watches the water intently. There are tadpoles below the surface, but he’s paying the most attention to a mayfly skimming the water.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Lucilius says, quieter than the ripples the mayfly leaves. “I am angry. I’m angry all the time. That’s how it’s been for so long it’s the only thing I remember.”

The world is all grays in his apathy, but it never gave anything to him. From the very start he’d been mashed into a model that could never fit him naturally, but maybe it would fit if a few of his limbs were broken along the way. It hurt so much to fight, but he had to, he knew he had to, and the only person who ever tried seeing who he was deep down was his little brother and maybe—

“I’m sorry.”

Lucilius squints. “I told you, I’m not angry at you.”

“No, but I know that look. It’s terrible. And I’m sorry.”

Don’t bother. Pawns have no right to pity him. Such fake words are so worthless, like Sariel could ever possibly understand… and Lucilius is still angry, but he feels the pull a lot less, just for a moment. 

“Why aren’t you angry?”

The question seems to startle Sariel. “About… what?”

“At him. He left you. You should hate him.”

Sariel dwindles down a little. “I was more… sad. I was left behind, even if it was at a good place. I would’ve done anything for him. I would have followed him if I could. But he left too early, so I couldn’t. Don’t you want to stay with someone you care for a little longer, even if it’s not forever?”

Lucilius doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, and he hates it. 

 

* * *

 

“Do you need to sit down?”

“I’m fine,” Lucilius lies, breathless. He downs half his water bottle to wet his throat, only to find that it doesn’t really help. There were two hiking trails, and they started out on the easier one, but then Sariel took a left and here they are. This isn’t a path, this is a slope steeper than a staircase. There are stones as footholds so they’re not just treading on leaves and soil, but that doesn’t help the ache springing up all over. 

Sariel finds a large stone and sits down regardless. Lucilius clicks his tongue, but takes the opportunity to sit too. A toppled tree has formed a bridge over a muddy patch, and Lucilius’ toes knock the budding greens below. 

“You’re not very good at this,” Sariel notes.

“I haven’t worked out in a while,” Lucilius grumbles. He probably should go to the gym, but he doesn’t have time. It’s not really worth his time. Meanwhile, Sariel hasn’t as much as broken a sweat. His breathing is still even, which shouldn’t be too much of a surprise considering one of his parents and his sister spend their life in athletics. Lucilius did not spend his life in athletics. He could sit here for another five minutes. They have to get up and walk again, so he pushes himself to his feet, finds a felled branch, and uses it to guide his steps. 

At the peak, the trees cleave away to reveal an expanse below the cliff, a multitude of green trees dotting the river below. They’re so high up that the earth below looks flat, the only shapes that give the sight dimension being the short mountains in the distance and the gathered clouds above. A small house is visible, but they’re too far to catch a glimpse of it. It’s nice, nothing that Lucilius hasn’t seen in photos before. But Sariel, he stares at the view with rapt wonder. “I didn’t know something this pretty was so close by.”

“There are always surprises,” Lucilius says, halfway breathless.

Sariel nods, still captivated by the view. “Always.”

They sit in silence for some time, Sariel watching the unchanging landscape and Lucilius discreetly catching his breath properly this time. 

“Did you have fun? I had fun.”

“Sure.”

“Even if this is for work, it’s still a nice time.” Sariel twists his finger around a long stem growing nearby his spot. “Are you going to tell your clients everything?”

“Not word for word, but everything that matters.”

“He did something for me once.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want you to tell anyone. Anyone.”

“I won’t.”

Sariel looks at him, and Lucilius knows he isn’t going to miss any details. “Promise me.”

How ridiculous. There’s absolutely no repercussions to breaking a verbal agreement with the sparse relationship the two of them have. But Lucilius knows what sort of words will work, so he softens his eyes and says, “I promise.”

Sariel goes back to the view, the lush trees, the river, the clouds. They wait in silence for twenty minutes. 

“Mr. Uriel didn’t want to adopt two children. I’d be the only one walking away, but I begged Mr. Uriel to adopt him too. I didn’t want to leave him behind. I had to wait even longer as Mr. Uriel and Mr. Raphael worked it out but… they agreed.”

“So is that why he lashed out? Because he knew he wasn’t actually wanted?”

“No. Not that. It felt like his usual testing but worse.”

Lucilius nods, and makes another cut. “But still, he left. Maybe he didn’t find the results that he wanted.

"I… don’t know. I thought… I thought he cared about me.”

“You sound sure.”

“I am sure.” Sariel looks at Lucilius. “Have you ever done something for someone that you’d only do for them? You wouldn’t do for anyone else, no matter how much you pretended?”

For Lucifer, he’d crack a smile, even if it feels uncomfortable on his lips and he knows it’s more of a sneer than something nice. And— Djeeta teasing him, this whole investigation, would he really—

“Once or twice.”

“Whoever they are, they must be important.”

Lucilius sighs, shifting to find a more comfortable position. “I suppose so.”

“Have you ever been scared before?”

“Don’t tell anyone, but I hate snakes. Even toy ones, I can’t stand them.”

Sariel shakes his head. “Not that. I mean… really afraid. Afraid that you were going to get hurt or die, at any moment.”

Lucilius remembers one of Lucio’s stunts when they were really young, trying to act up for attention. There’s an abandoned power plant by their home, and Lucio wanted to break in, bring something cool back to show their father. They were all young and stupid, so Lucilius and Lucifer followed their big brother when it was far past their bedtime. It was fun for a while, crawling through the rooms with cloths around their mouths and only their flashlights showing them the way. Lucio found his treasure: an old rusty key. 

They had to crawl under razor wire to leave the area, when Lucifer dropped the key into the dirt. Lucilius tried to pick it up, and when he did, he slipped and fell. The wires tangled around him, wove around his throat. His brothers tried to free him, but he was tangled in too deep. They had to run back to the house to get help.

It was dark. He couldn’t reach a flashlight. Whenever he moved, the razors cut deeper. The cold wrapped around him. His neck was slick with his own blood. He sat there, trembling, thinking about movies where people died from a knife to their throat and were paralyzed from a hit to their spine. His brothers were gone into the night. 

He was all alone. Bleeding. Trapped. 

Waiting.

He waited for so long.

“Once.”

Sariel looks at Lucilius, and nods, understanding. “People make fun of me. Because I can’t talk too well, because I’m not very smart. Sometimes… people used to hurt me. In one of the homes, there was an older boy, he hurt and scared a lot of the kids. Because he was bigger, and stronger. He… he liked it. I could’ve hurt him back but… I was afraid. I don’t like pain. I don’t like it when other people have pain either.”

“Didn’t you say the house parents were attentive? Did you ask them for help?”

Sariel shakes his head. “The help they’d give isn’t the help I needed.”

Lucilius doesn’t say anything to that.

“And one day, he was gone. He didn’t get adopted. He didn’t say he was leaving. He was just gone. Nobody knew. I don’t know exactly what happened,” Sariel stiffly says. Smart. “ _He_ never said anything, but I knew. I knew he did something. He made the older boy go away forever. He didn’t have to, the two of them never had a problem. He wouldn’t get anything out of it. But he did it anyway.”

Lucilius charts the final input into his equation. So that’s what it is.

 

* * *

 

“I think I have everything I need for my clients.”

Sariel nods. The petting zoo is slow today, and he’s idly letting a baby cicada rest on his hand. “So you’re going.”

“You knew this would happen.”

“Yes,” he says. He sounds tired, an ache from being disappointed too many times. “I’m still sad. But I did find people. Even if I didn’t keep everyone that did.” Sariel holds out the cicada. “Would you like to hold him?”

Lucilius does not. He isn’t squeamish about insects either, so with a sigh he holds out his hands and takes the cicada. It’s cool to touch, but it doesn’t move around too much. He could crush it to pulp with one squeeze. 

“One day you’ll find someone. You’ll feel a lot better then.”

“I’m not looking for romance.”

“Not romance. Someone.” Sariel carefully takes the cicada back. “Bye now.”

 

* * *

 

He checks out of the hotel at noon, right behind a family of three. The young girl wants one of the candy bars on display at the counter, and pulls at her mother’s jacket, begging for one. The more refusals she gets, the more she kicks up a fuss. The man at the front desk looks relieved to get a distraction, and pushes Lucilius through in a matter of minutes.

It’s a long drive back, at least three to four hours. It’s sunny out, and the square sunglasses do a good job protecting him from the sun. And stoplight cameras. 

At a rest stop halfway through, he carefully removes a glass box from his shoulder bag. Inside it is another container, still with a small amount of  liquid. He carefully pours the contents into a small steel drum that he bought in a hardware store and empties the glass’ contents inside. The battery is removed from the sat-phone, and he throws both battery and shell inside the container, listening to the telltale hiss of acid. He seals the container and places it in the backseat. The fake cards and IDs of Adam Gaius are cut up into small pieces, and he sprinkles them out the window as he drives between towns. They’ve been evenly distributed over the course of five highway exits. 

He pulls into a used car lot, a graveyard of old parts. Newer cars are out in the front, shining with fresh paint jobs, but the further he drives in, the more rust and innards are on display. Whatever this place is, it’s a fine dumping ground for the remains of devastating automobile accidents. The twins are by a row of tires, Gran lounging on the hood of a fire-ravaged pickup, and Djeeta tapping on her phone. “There you are,” she says, when he pulls up.

Lucilius grunts, gets out of the car with the container in hand. By now, the acid has made a thorough mess of the phone’s insides. Djeeta pulls out a large plastic grocery bag and empties its contents into the container, careful not to cause any splashes. In tumble the remains of their phones, after coming into contact with a hammer. “Just put it in the backseat. Gloves?”

“I never took them off in public.”

“You can take them off now. Clothes?”

Lucilius hands her his suitcase, and she kicks it open, piling the contents into a large trash bag. She bangs her fist on a large incinerator, and pushes the bag inside. It’ll be ashes in the morning, if not in a few hours. 

“I wasn’t followed,” Lucilius says.

“They can’t run your plates even if you were,” Gran kicks his feet idly in the air.

A young man with flares of green in his hair drives by whistling. Lucilius snaps to the defensive, feeling inside his bag, but Djeeta calls out, “Hey! We got the car we told you about, can you crunch this up for us?”

The young man pauses, and Lucilius sees the shirt he’s wearing has a patch with the garage logo on it. He salutes. “It’ll be done by morning! And Gran, come by on Saturday, we’re giving the lastest rides a test run!”

“If I’m free!” Gran yells back, and the young man takes off laughing. Gran sees Lucilius’ hand deep in his bag and says, “Don’t worry, he’s with us.”

Lucilius waits a moment. “If we’re done here, then—” His arms are pinned to his sides as Djeeta wraps him up in a hug. He sighs, knowing he doesn’t have the physical strength to break free. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“You did some crazy, stupid stuff. We weren’t sure if you’d make it back.”

“Don’t pretend to be sentimental. And I did.”

“You did, you bastard. If you died, we’d be really mad.”

“So,” Gran reaches through the broken windshield of the pickup and pulls out a bottle of champagne with a bag of plastic cups, “let’s celebrate!”

“This is completely unnecessary—” Lucilius starts, but Djeeta has already muscled him into sitting on the floor, and he doesn’t know his way out of this place if he runs. 

“A toast!” Djeeta says, raising her cup. “To Lucilius breaking like fifteen laws!”

“To Lucilius finally getting his answer!” Gran calls in turn.

Lucilius doesn’t add anything, and drinks his champagne in silence. It’s not very good, but the burn down his throat stops the chill in his hands.

Djeeta is already snug up against him, but he loses a lot of mobility when Gran slides up to his other side. He kicks his feet up onto a tire iron,  eyes glittering. “So can you tell us what you found? I mean, we basically know, but we want to hear it.”

It’s really not necessary to explain himself, especially when he knows the two are more than smart enough to put the pieces together. “Figure it out on your own.”

“Boo, cheapskate.” Djeeta pokes his cheek with a finger, and he slaps her away. “All this help and not even as much as an extra bonus.”

Lucilius squints at Gran, and gets an innocent look in return. “This will never be spoken of again. You, swear on your music collection.” To Djeeta, “You, swear on your mobile game save data.”

“Wow, breaking out the big guns, huh?” Djeeta rolls her eyes but still says, “I promise. The great detective speaks!” 

Lucilius snorts, and swirls the champagne in his cup. It’s no delicate glass, but it sparkles and fizzles inside. He exhales slowly, his lips thin as he whistles out air. The twins watch him intently as he explains everything; he’s a decent orator, having practiced his words at years of conferences. Even if his tone is flat and monotonous, they listen like his findings whip up the wind around them.

“Huh.” Gran finishes his glass. “Well, he’s not a serial killer.”

“You were hoping I was dating a serial killer?”

“I mean. Would you really mind?”

Lucilius flicks Gran on the side of his head. 

“If anything, you’re the one with a secret, sordid past. You’re the rich heir with a secret fortune and an estate.”

“Silence,” he snarls, but they laugh, his threats rarely working on them.

“So, are you glad you found it out?”

Djeeta’s words wear him down to the bone. He did find out, everything all neat and deadly and perfectly equated. It all fit into his calculations, and he’d finished without much trouble. This ending was the ideal one, but still, there’s a discontent under his eyes, an emptiness in the back of his brain. He has always been a kind of hollow, Lucifer had told him many times when they were young that Lucilius had a kind of void that’s worthy of fear. It had been part of him for so long that he never paid it any mind, but now he’s noticed it and it’s wide and abyssal. 

He’s good enough of an actor that none of that comes near his face. He has long since cultivated his hateful nonchalance that it’s easy to put it on again. “Tearing an answer free is the end goal of any researcher.”

Gran quirks an eyebrow, finishes off his champagne, and then gets to his feet. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Go where?” Lucilius narrows his eyes as Djeeta pulls him up like he weighs nothing.

“Our place. You need to get all that blonde out of your hair. Also, your original suitcase is in our kitchen. It’s fine. You can stay the night. Also, you don’t look like you’re ready to go home just yet.”

 

* * *

 

Belial is spread out on the sofa, a thick pair of headphones over his ears as he scrolls through something on his phone. When Lucilius comes in, shaking his dripping umbrella out in the hall, Belial perks up. “Welcome back, darling,” he hums. 

Lucilius doesn’t respond, and that’s no surprise. He dumps his suitcase by the sofa and clicks it open. 

Belial slinks over, pulled away from whatever he was doing before to lounge by Lucilius’ side. “Already unpacking my souvenir? I hope you got me something good. I hear they have some really good toys abroad.”

Lucilius drops the folder onto the table, the only thing that didn’t go into the fire. It’s so full of documents it makes a loud thud when it hits the glass top. “Read.”

“Documents from the conference? You shouldn’t have…”

“I said read.”

Belial raises his eyebrows, smile coy as he picks up the folder. It falls away as soon as he sees the contents of the first page. Lucilius hypothesized several solutions of what Belial’s reaction would be— anger, denial, confusion— but Belial gives him none of that. He stays there, cooled and even, letting the fire rage around him.  

Neither of them speak, and Lucilius isn’t going to be the first one to do so.

“You really are a researcher, huh?”

“So your name really is—”

“It’s Belial.” No room for argument. “The kid whose name in there, he’s a dead man. Didn’t you read the death certificate? I changed my name when I turned 18. There’s only Belial.” He peers over the edge of the folder, between the protruding paperclips. “Berlin, huh? Did you spin a bunch of lies on your trip? I bet you scared a whole lot of people, making them think the dead’s still walking.”

Lucilius shrugs. Probably. It’s not his problem. 

“Ruthless,” Belial hisses, “and a liar. You don’t care about who you hurt. You’re beautiful.” He says so, but Lucilius hears a chilly wariness in his voice. 

The rain is coming down heavily, hitting the windowpane in slants. 

“And Jonah…”

“Oh, he’s dead.” Belial takes out a cigarette and flicks his lighter, sparking the end of the stick to life. “Some corpse doesn’t need a name.”

“Stealing the names of the dead, hm.”

“Well, you know me. I can’t stop getting into trouble.”

“You still managed to find accomplices.”

“Yeah, I got lucky. I met this old man who ran a bookstore— sharp, but not suspicious. I kept stopping in to read through a couple, sometimes I’d buy a paperback and then drop it off at the library. Turns out the old man who ran the thing was on his way out, and his store was on a nice piece of land, the kind of land that he didn’t want falling to greedy real estate people who had been sniffing around. So, he legally adopted ‘Jonah’. It’s not like Jonah was ever close to his parents anyway, and all I had to do was feed the lawyers some story about parental neglect. I didn’t even have to step into the courts.” Belial chuckles at the memory. “Of course, the old man knew what he was talking about, and he kicked the bucket a couple years later. Changed my name at eighteen, and you know the rest.”

“You’re being quite open.”

“I always knew I’d get found out some day.” When he laughs, it’s tired. There is no running forever. “At least it was you. If it was some paparazzi nut, then I’d have to call a lawyer. Which would be an interesting tryst, but I’d rather not.”

Lucilius leans his chin on his palm. They’re both resilient, too resilient. “It doesn’t bother you, that I found all this out?”

“Well, you have your hand in the middle of my guts right now. It’s sexy, but your hand’s still there.” Belial takes a long drag. “Come on, look alive. You won.”

Lucilius feels a trickle of satisfaction of being right, but it’s so small that it doesn’t give him any pleasure. He’s started some words, some thoughts, but all he gets is cold air in his throat. “This answer, it isn’t what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?” 

“Maybe something better—”

“Better?” Belial’s words are sweet and so is his tone, but Lucilius can hear the iron barbs beneath. “If you want to make jokes, then go ahead. But I won’t have you pity me.”

“What difference does it make?”

“What difference does it make whether someone knows about your father or not?”

The ache that had long become part of Lucilius’ life, now and forever, kicks up again. He buries his hands in his lap, in the frills on the edges of his sleeves, and bites his tongue until it hurts more than the cut that will never heal. 

Belial sees it, doesn’t comment on it. “The way I had things going before, I’d never be able to do what I wanted to do. I’m going to live the way I want to, and nobody is going to stop me. And I’m not going to be known for what I was and not what I am. I’ve done pretty good for myself.”

Lucilius knows worthless platitudes, encouragement that those ideas are ridiculous. Even if he did subscribe to such useless feelings, he knows they’d be lies. The public doesn’t care, all they want is a tantalizing story to sate their boredom. “I see,” he says, and doesn’t bring it up again. “You always put in an absurd amount of effort into things.”

“Thaaaank you. Nobody wanted me, plain and simple.”

“You were adopted several times—”

“No. Nobody wanted _me_. They all wanted a version of me that I’m not. And they can all go straight to hell.”

“The Liliannas too? It doesn’t seem like they’re the type of family to be particularly strict overall. After all, one of their children now does… image-based social media poetry—”

“Faa-san, please. Just say the platform name instead.”

“They’re unconventional, and you thrive on unconventionality. You really think that they’re the kind of people that would hurt you?”

“Mm, probably not. They’re just not my thing at all, you know? They wanted to go on _family outings_. Walk through the park and eat dinner together. Ugh, terrible. I already knew I wanted to get gone, but nail in the coffin.”

“Then why didn’t you just run away from the orphanage? Why go through the process of another adoption if you already had plans?”

Belial winks. “What’s one more try? A guy’s got to make sure that what he’s doing is right. Gathering proof, and all that jazz.”

“Yes. You made sure what kind of family they were. But not for you.”

“Come on. You know me, there’s nobody I care about more than myself. Freedom triumphs all.”

“Liar.” 

Belial blinks, the expression of someone who discovered a roadblock for the first time. 

“You did it for Sariel.”

“Sarry can take care of himself.”

“Perhaps. But you didn’t know what kind of people he was going with, if they actually wanted him or they just wanted a sympathetic prop. So when he offered to bring you along too, you went along with it. And you did your absolute worst to see how they’d react, if they’d take their frustration out on a troubled kid or not. They passed the test, you knew he’d be safe, so you left.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little too generous of me? Would I really do something like that?”

“Would you or would you not is of little consequence to me. You did it. And that’s why.”

Belial gives him a smile, that teasing but vague expression that he puts out to the world to make him look trustworthy. It has never worked on Lucilius, who stares back stiff and unconvinced. Burning tobacco fills the silent apartment. 

“If you cared so much, why did you run away without saying anything?”

“They’re the kind of family that would call the cops.” Belial shrugs. 

“He’d have followed you,” Lucilius says, plain as his realization. “You knew.”

Belial exhales carefully, twisting his cigarette between his fingers. “Sarry thought the world of me. And I know what kind of world that would end up being.” He closes his eyes and takes a long drag, swallowing smoke. “So. You know. Now what? It’s not like you need the money, but you could get a nice kick selling this to the press. That would be amusing, wouldn’t it?” His voice could traverse any storm, but it’s stiff, braced for pain. 

A minute is dreadfully long when the seconds are counted out. The clock hands tick painfully slow, judging the empty space. 

“We’re even.”

Belial looks at him, pupils blown wide. “You’re not going to—”

“Publish it? Don’t be absurd.” He knocks the folder towards Belial and makes no motion to pick it back up.

Belial fingers the edges, tracing the nocks of the pages. “I could burn this.”

“Then burn it.” Nobody else needs to believe him. Nobody else needs to see proof, be convinced, because this information isn’t for anyone else. Only for Lucilius. He knows the truth, so its job is done. Belial caught him in a trap, saw his life, saw his family. Now he’s done the same right back. There’s a noose around both their throats now, and Lucilius isn’t going to be the only one choking if Belial kicks the foundation out from beneath them. But Belial won't. Not for power, not because Lucilius has something on him, not because seeing Lucilius stand there would give Belial some kicks, but because he won’t. And Lucilius know he won’t and never will. 

“I told you, we’re even.”

“Even. That’s why you did all this, to get even?”

“Of course. I told you I’d find your baby photos. Why else?”

“Ah. So that’s what this is about.” He laughs deep down, and his face softens. A tension eases out of his body as he looks at the glowing end of the cigarette before grinding it out. He opens his arms. “Come here.”

Now Lucilius grows stiff, pulling his body to the edge of the sofa. “Why? What purpose is there?”

“None whatsoever. I just want to hold you.”

Lucilius pauses, assessing the situation, looking for traps. Belial stays where he is, untired. Lucilius slides closer cautiously. Waits a moment. Slides again. Belial is patient, a flytrap that snags Lucilius as soon as he comes close. His grip isn’t very tight, Lucilius could escape just by rolling to the side. 

“You’re a fool,” Lucilius states. “I pull out your innards and you want to embrace me.”

“Harsh!” Belial’s body shakes as he laughs. His hand is in Lucilius’ hair, raking through soft strands. “But that’s me, the biggest fool in the whole universe. And there’s nobody who would stay with you but a fool like me.”

“Shut up.”

There are always outliers. There are always exceptions. 


	6. The Heresy of Love

Belial knows something is wrong when Lucilius walks through the door and heads straight for Eve. She’s already been fed, so he doesn’t go the mice cage, but he plops down in front of her enclosure and stares inside. 

“How did the party go?”

Lucilius smiles like a razor’s edge, and when he smiles like that, someone might die. Still, he only stares at Eve, who having noticed her guest, stares back at him from one of her branches. 

“That bad, huh.”

“The board invited some fellows over from a different institution. I haven’t met any of them, but it seems they’ve heard of me. Rumor has it that I paid my way into my position. If I couldn’t get by with family money, then there’s always service under the table.” He laughs, and it doesn’t sound like anything.

Lucilius isn’t a very active person, but it’s the times when he goes completely inert that are the problem. Years of dealing with polite society have taught him that no matter how much he wants to scream and destroy, he can never show it, so he has to go inside himself and boil. Belial doesn’t think Lucilius will try to hurt Eve or try to hurt him, but tangling himself up in barbed wire is a great way for him to accidentally hurt himself. 

“Well, if I keep the cake waiting for any longer, it might collapse on itself. Want to help out?”

Lucilius angles away from Eve. “Since when do you bake?”

“Not often, but it’s a special occasion. It’s for Sandy.”

Lucilius quirks an eyebrow.

“You didn’t notice? That’s right, Sandy finally got laid. Well, a couple months back, but I’ve been too busy to get this done.”

The kaleidoscope that crosses Lucilius’ face is truly beautiful to behold. His white teeth sink into his lower lip and his leather gloves crease as he clenches his fists. “Is that what you’ve assessed?”

“Now, now. Feru’s a grown man with a healthy sex drive. I’m more surprised that he lasted this long without giving in. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it and realized.” Then he sees how Lucilius’ shadow could eclipse the moon. “Or I guess not.”

“Why _him_? He could have anyone, and he chooses the worthless runt. The _grit_.” 

Before Lucilius can boil over, Belial pushes a bowl and a butter knife into his hands. “Want to help with the frosting? Are you good at writing? Pick a phrase.”

“‘Die immediately’.” 

“I was going to go with a congratulations. But you can write that on the sides.”

Lucilius has steady hands from years working in the lab. He’s never seen Lucilius draw anything that wasn’t a graph scribbled on scrap paper, but he gets the handle of frosting within a few minutes. Belial doesn’t miss the moment when Lucilius slips a small knife between the bottom layers, angled so that Sandalphon will definitely hit it when he cuts a slice. When it’s all done, he’s sure Sandalphon will want to die when he sees it, so it’s perfect.

“I’ve got to admit, Faa-san, your dad really seems to have hit the jackpot in the genetic lottery. Three kids and none of them are straight. So much for getting little Bahamut heirs.”

Lucilius snorts and rolls his eyes. It’s the closest thing to a laugh that he’ll muster at the moment. 

When the cake is set in the fridge until Belial can send it over to Sandalphon’s place and get the invariable fuck you text in response, Lucilius has returned to his state of inert disgruntlement. 

“Sandy is going to hate this.”

“Good.”

Lucilius looks disappointed when Belial tells him no, the cake is not poisoned, but if he can pull off the disappointed look then he’s not as angry as he was when he first came home. But some anger doesn’t go away, just dwindles down into dormancy until the next idiot hits the tripwire. 

“You’ve got a conference next week, don’t you?”

“Yes. Downtown, so no travel expenses.”

“Why don’t you give me a little sneak peak?”

Lucilius stares at him. “Since when do you have a background in neuroscience?”

“I don’t. But I know the basics. I can follow your writing just fine— you’re not the type to add big words just for the sake of your word count.”

“No. I am not.”

Belial takes Eve out of her enclosure and plops down onto the sofa. “Go ahead, do your thing. I guarantee you that we’re a much better audience than those ivory tower prudes anyway.”

Tilting his head, Lucilius considers it. Just when Belial thinks he’s going to get rebuffed for a stupid idea, Lucilius takes his laptop out of his work bag. 

Even his practice sessions radiate the firm confidence of someone who knows precisely what he’s talking about. Lucilius’ words are still monotonous, but he is precise and not verbose, able to break down clusters of concepts too complex for anyone not already in the know to sizable pieces. All his slides carefully flow, leaving no angle unswept. Sometimes Lucilius gets so absorbed in his words that he forgets his audience for minutes at a time. He is rigid and calculated in a way that Belial isn’t, and Belial could listen to this sermon forever. 

“Not a bad performance,” Belial admits when Lucilius shuts his laptop lid. 

“Maybe it’s not my work and I’m just a good orator,” Lucilius mumbles, bitter.

“No way. Someone who’s only image will get eviscerated during the Q&A. You, you can’t wait for it to show everyone what they’re messing with.”

Lucilius wrinkles his mouth. 

“Most importantly,” Belial says, bopping Eve on her snout when she tries to wriggle down his shirt, “I get to finally see Suit Faa-san.”

“It’s really nothing special,” Lucilius insists, like he didn’t know that his words were something holy and wouldn’t ever realize. 

 

* * *

 

Now that he finally sees Suit Lucilius, it’s better than he ever imagined. 

It shows his silhouette and doesn't at the same time, slim around his shoulders but then his jacket obscures the front of him. He chooses a black tie at first, but pauses when Belial puts a purple one in his hand. Black paired with black gets so dull sometimes. Lucilius doesn't object to the purple tie, or the bat wing pin that Belial sticks onto his collar. He is proper in all the ways that he should be and defiant enough that those that notice can't ignore.

"Are you finished fussing over me?"

"Almost," Belial says, snapping one more picture. Lucilius putting his gloves on is a scene he shoots in burst.

"How absurd."

Belial pockets his phone with a smile. "Need a ride?" It’s a lot better than Lucilius calling a car just to take a fifteen minute drive downtown. He’d love to be Lucilius’ unwanted plus one, but those events are invite-only. Also, if someone recognizes him and posts a picture of him online, that will be a PR nightmare. If he keeps his helmet on and stays outside, then nobody will notice him. 

“That would cause a scene.”

“How pleasurable does that sound?”

“My enemies will despise me no matter what I do. It makes no difference whether I act perfectly or not.”

“You are always a grand time,” Belial says and tosses Lucilius his helmet. 

Grumbling, the tires barrel through the streets. The hotel looks way too art deco for its own good, and the bellhop was expecting a vehicle a lot larger than a motorcycle. The bellhop is about to say something, but pauses when Lucilius swings off the back of the bike and with his light coat and sharp suit marches through the taxi line and straight to the front door. Belial wants to laugh. When was the last time someone indulged him in this much fun, so often? He drives away before someone stuck-up ruins the moment. 

His schedule's been thrown in disarray, but what's one off day anyway. Still, he doesn’t have anything pressing to do while he's downtown: he doesn't really feel like going shopping, and he's not close enough to home to justify doing some errands. If he hangs around in a public place like a park for too long, he's bound to be recognized by at least one person, and that's annoying.

There's always people that need bothering, at least. 

"We are supposed to be on a date later." Iss already sounds done with him as soon as she picks up the phone.

"Well I have something much better for you. How about lunch, all of us? When was the last time we all ate together that wasn't snacks at a bar or the food Olivia brings to practice?”

Iss sighs, but he also hears Az chirp, "Are you paying?" in the background. “Are you?” Iss asks in a tone demanding a yes.      

“Alright, ookay. I’m right across the street from your favorite bodega.”

“You planned this,” Iss grumbles and hangs up the phone.

He grabs a coffee from a street truck in the meantime, but he only has to wait about five minutes before he spots Az and Iss down the street. Avatar is with them, and he got here fast, which means he was probably visiting his brother in the financial district.

“Where’s Bubs?”

“Taking a nap,” Az yawns. Nobody in their right mind would try to wake Bubs up from his naps. “What are we getting?”

“Hot pot.”

“The weather’s warming up though?”

“There’s a place a few streets down that has unlimited hotpot for two hours. But if you don’t like that choice, I suppose I can go look for something else…”

“Why are we standing around like this, let’s go, let’s go!” Az is a lot stronger than she looks, and wastes no time pushing Belial down the street. 

It’s still midday, so there’s hardly a line— good, because this place probably fills up like crazy during dinner hours. Iss wasted no time in telling Avatar that Belial was paying, and Avatar signed him a thanks. Maybe he can find some way to wriggle out of this by the time the check comes. Az orders her body weight in four different cuts of beef, and Belial notes the vegetables that the whole group wants. Avatar has to patiently explain to Az that no, seafood and meat shouldn’t go in the same broth as Iss relays it all to a clearly overwhelmed waiter. 

“Why are you downtown? Don’t you live closer to Bubs?” Az asks, who has wasted no time in sampling the tofu.

“Had to drive my man to his conference. He’s going to be stuck in some fancy hotel until six. Only those with credentials allowed.”

Avatar eases his head to the side, nodding in understanding. Belial picks up on that quick. 

“Hey, hang on. Why are you acting like that’s a good thing?”

Avatar quirks an eyebrow over a flat expression. 

“Wow, that hurts. I can behave.”

“Can you?” Iss scoots her water out of the way when the waiters place down the pot and turn on the gas. “Bubs is still never forgiving you for the Alternative incident.” 

Ah yes, the time when Bubs went to the bathroom during one of the awards parties and found it full of orgy. He had no qualms dragging Belial by his boxers through the entire party venue and out the door. “One day Bubs will lighten up,” Belial hums. Yeah, right. Probably never.

"The mysterious, elusive boyfriend is smart enough to ban you from a party like that.”

"Who does exist, thank you very much."

“We still haven’t met him.”

“I want to!” Az chirps. “Bring him over!”

“If you’re driving him to his work, he should drive you sometimes to practice,” Iss points out. 

No thanks. Lucilius has a license, but Belial didn’t understand why he never used it until the twins suggested taking the RVs out for a spin during the summer. Lucilius drives like he walks; expecting everyone to get out of the way for him. He could probably drive the bike, and give Belial at least twelve near-death experiences in the process. “Maybe not. He’s a little reckless.”

The waiter doesn’t have enough hands for all the plates that they’ve ordered. It takes three trips. Az gasps so hard that she glimmers, and shoves the entire first plate of meat into the broth. He’d better get ready to grab some, because if he slacks, Az will eat everything by herself. 

“It’s still a surprise that he’s never shown up to one of our concerts before,” Iss notes, sliding in a fair amount of cabbage, tofu, and mushrooms. “He doesn’t need to buy a ticket. He could pop in as a surprise.”

“Nah, he’s not interested.”

“Don’t you want him to come?”

Belial pauses in the middle of putting in some scallions. Nobody has ever been close enough to him to want to know about his accomplishments. Sure there were the people supposed to act as his parents, lies, but that’s performative. There’s Sariel, but he could be wearing a brown paper bag and Sariel would’ve told him that he looked great. All his music has been for himself, what he wanted to do. He never had to show off to anyone that mattered. 

Avatar shakes his head in sympathy. He’s serious, like he’s testing Belial somehow.

Iss steals some tripe from Az’s plate. “Let’s say this mystery man exists—”

“He does.”

“Let’s say he does. You’re okay with him pulling you along like that? That seems kind of... bad."

Avatar nods.

"You don't have to worry about me. We've got a good thing going on."

"Do you? Does he cook? Or do chores?” 

Lucilius doesn't ever cook dinner. Not because he can't cook— the one time he did, the food was quite good— but because he will forget to feed himself. He gets so obsessed with whatever he is focusing on at the moment that he will push his hunger into the back of his mind. Lucifer said that when he and Lucilius lived together post-college, Lucilius would sometimes forget to eat for days. He does clean at least, being the head of the lab with his kind of personality meant that there was no way he'd leave the apartment dirty. "No for cooking but he's not one for messes, but mm, that's more of a joint effort.”

“Do you two do things together?”

“Of course.” Discreetly, naturally. Neither of them want unnecessary attention. Az and Iss have to avoid the press when they go out, so everyone knows the drill. “The other day, I helped him prep for his presentation.”

“What does he do?” Az asks, plate piled high with a stack of cabbage and watercress and meat and counting.

“Some kind of neuro.”

“You know neuro?”

“Nope.”

“Clearly you have it bad. I mean, you listened to a PowerPoint presentation on a subject you know nothing about. Is that why you’ve been leaving practice at five on the dot?”

“Hey, you think I’m all cleavage and a hot body? I was able to follow it along well enough.”

Iss waves it off, ignoring the jab. “Is that really okay? It kind of sounds like he’s taking advantage of you.”

“There’s no taking advantage of anyone. Although, he is very domineering in be—”

“Stop talking, please!”

“Az, your face really doesn’t match your words.”

Iss taps her chopsticks, trying to get a withered scallion off the ends. “So let me get this straight. He doesn’t listen to your music, he doesn’t care about your hobbies, he eats your dinner and doesn’t do anything back, he doesn’t give you gifts, he doesn’t go out of his way to see you. Does he do anything for you at all?”

“Well, there is the se—” Iss glares at him so hard that Belial steers to, “He gets me.”

Avatar points at Belial, then chops his hand into his open palm and waves it away, repeating the motion and pointing again. 

He shrugs his shoulders. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Avatar narrows his eyes, disbelieving. But with a sweep of his hand, Avatar brings up the latest installment of a game series he likes, and Belial could not be more grateful. He can handle awkward conversations just fine, but that doesn’t mean trepidation doesn’t trickle from his ears to his toes when he’s in the middle of one. He can join in on the conversation easy enough, even though he’s never played the title they’re discussing. He’s more relieved when the lunch is over.  

“Belial.” It’s Az, walking behind him until he goes left to pay the check and she goes right towards the bathroom. She’s much shorter than he is, more wiry and delicate, but she holds his arm firm even when they have to squeeze past a line of chairs jutted too far out into the walkways.

“Changed your mind and decided to pay your part?”

Az giggles. That’s a no. Her braids bounce when she reaches up on her tiptoes to squish his cheeks. “You don’t get to choose who to fall for, but you get to choose what you do for them. Okay?”

He takes a moment, caught off guard by one of Az’s more lucid moments. He knows she’s not stupid, even if she has the kind of airy voice that makes people think she is. Still, she’s always content to do her own thing and let Iss take on the times that require a more delicate approach. 

Belial peels her fingers off, and says, “Ookay,” in his usual flippant tone. 

She exhales loudly, plopping back onto her heels, and skips towards the bathroom. She’s said her piece, and she knows it’s entirely up to Belial to decide whether to take it or not. Even if he doesn’t, Belial knows she’s right. 

He has time to kill, so he parks himself in a cafe and grabs a coffee. Belial knows himself pretty well. He’d be damned before someone caught him off guard being able to see who he is better than he can see himself. If there are no surprises, then he can anticipate anything. He’ll lie to everyone, but never to himself. Djeeta clasping her hands together in the bar, humming, “Belial here is in love,” as she and her brother dissect his lyrics. Az giving him rare advice, knowing. Yet he’s made careful measures not to fall in love.

Because love is weakness. Sariel, whose arms were iron in the arm wrestling matches the kids held when they were bored, going stiff when one of the older boys grabbed a fistful of his long hair and pulled until the strands ached. Sariel who could knock down that older boy with ease, but when Belial pulled Sariel’s freshly laundered sheets off the bed to discover what was causing that acrid smell, all he did was shake uncontrollably. Belial didn’t store that away as information to twist Sariel’s path, but kept it for himself.

And love is strength. All it took was a sweep of his leg to make the older boy slip and fall along a hiking trail. If the rocks didn’t take care of him, the river would. He’d lingered for a moment, frozen not with the realization of what he’d done, but the realization that he’d done it for someone else. 

Romance though, that’s getting his hopes up for a stranger. At least with sex, people want something physical, something he can break off whenever he feels like it. Sex is replaceable; some are better than others, but it feels good and then it’s over. Love carries across time, and that hurts when it goes away. Lucilius is an ice statue come to life, and the exception to any rule. Belial won’t lie to himself. And no matter how much he doesn’t like it, it all points to one thing. 

He spots Lucilius underneath the hotel awning, having some rigid small talk with two sharply dressed women. He looks less pleased than usual, and that’s saying something. Belial slams on the brakes in front of the group, front tire squealing as he swings his bike around. “Faa-san!” 

Lucilius reacts instantly, dashing forward and swinging his legs over the bike as they make their getaway. 

"Did you see their faces?" Belial shouts over his shoulder when they’re at a red light.

"They might have thought I was kidnapped."

"Willingly kidnapped."

Lucilius grumbles, but Belial feels the curve of Lucilius’ cheek as he leans on Belial’s back, and he fights to keep control of the bike. Feeling Lucilius pressed up against him like this is rare; he seems to despise physical contact, and he’s not willing to break his own rules. The firm hold around Belial’s waist when it’s the two of them on the bike is a reminder that Lucilius has a pulse, that despite being a void of temperature he still radiates cold heat. His spiking heart rate aside, if Lucilius goes without a helmet for too long, some bored cop might try to give them a ticket. 

He swings the bike into an empty driveway and before Lucilius thinks of climbing off, Belial hands him a spare helmet. “You don’t want your pretty brains splattered all over the pavement, do you?”

With a sigh, Lucilius takes it. “How bothersome. It’s not that far.”

“You’ll be able to ride nice and slow, but we can’t have fun if someone else bothers us, can we?” Lucilius frowns, but Belial distracts him with a, “So did the presentation go well? Did you bring them to their knees?”

“It was amusing," Lucilius responds, and his lips curl up just slightly over his teeth and his eyes shine opal, and Belial masks his sharp gasp as an inhale and ah, he is ruined after all.

 

* * *

 

The only open table was one shoved all the way into the back corner, but Belial doesn’t mind. Less people would be willing to make the trek, especially not if alcohol is muddling their steps. 

Lucifer still stands out in the crowd, and it’s insufferable. Belial wants to tell him to ditch the preppy clothes, but that’s probably all Lucifer has in his closet. Maybe Lucifer should borrow one of Sandalphon’s hoodies, the kid wears ones that are two sizes too big on purpose. Otherwise, it looks like Belial’s sitting in for an interview in the back of a seedy sports bar. 

“So did Sandy like my gift?”

Lucifer pauses, tapping a finger on his mug. “Sandalphon, ah, requested that you not contact him ever again.”

There’s no way Sandalphon was so elegant or polite with his words. Belial leans his chin on his palms. “Did he like the cake?”

“He tried to throw it out, and I urged him not to. After all, you clearly worked very hard on it…”

Oh, Lucifer. Dear, sweet Lucifer. Never change. 

Lucifer’s mouth is weak and lopsided. “I wasn’t sure how you found out. I know Sandalphon didn’t tell you, and we haven’t had drinks since then…”

It was so obvious. Last family dinner, Sandalphon acted like he’d picked up a bit of confidence. Either he finally quit his retail job (unlikely), or he finally got laid. As soon as Belial managed to get Sandalphon to complain about some of the more intolerable customers, he knew which one was the answer. “I’m good at guessing.”

“I have to thank you, Belial. If it wasn’t for your advice, then I think Sandalphon and I would have remained stuck. We tried talking and…” He inhales a short breath. “It wasn’t exactly easy. But by the end, I was glad that we spoke. I feel like I understand him a little better.” His eyes light up from deep down, and he’s looking into his glass but not at its contents. “We’ll be okay.”

“You’re weelcome,” Belial drawls, but wow, he really didn’t expect that to work out. This hopeless duo would never collide if someone didn’t give them a push.

Lucifer goes rosy, pink blotchy on his cheeks. “It went rather well, I think. Sandalphon was nervous, but that’s to be expected. He picked up on the basics very quickly.” 

Oh boy.

“He’s stubborn too, you understand— you’ve had your share of partners before Lucilius, right? Sometimes stubborn people don’t know what their limits are before they hit them, and I didn’t want that. But I was happy, and I think Sandalphon was happy too. He’s a gentle lover.”

Belial tips back his glass, trying to drain as much rum as possible. Where did the rest of his drink go? He could have sworn there was more. 

“I think… I think he might want more. We’ve been quite well so far, but I have the feeling he wants to be more hm, domineering? I think it might be good if we discuss some variances in control… Belial, you might want to slow down. You are drinking very fast.”

Crowd pleasing smile on, he gives Lucifer a wink. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be okay. Why don’t we order another round?”

“Already? I suppose I don’t mind, if you can handle it.”

“I’m doing just great. Waiter!”

Lucifer waits until Belial rattles out his sizable order. Before he can open his mouth, Belial cuts in. “You know who knows Sandy the best?”

“Sandalphon himself?”

“That’s right, you do! So go ahead and ask him, nice and sweet. Sandy’s a good boy, eager to please. If you push him, he’ll tell you.”

Lucifer laughs, his relief coming out silvery. “True. It really does come down to that.” His exhale sounds like a hum, as if he’d just lay down on a soft pillow. “If you love someone, they’re worth the effort.”

Belial raises an eyebrow. How does he know?

Lucifer blinks. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question.”

Faint confusion fizzles around Belial’s head before he realizes that he spoke out loud. He slides into place, never one to lose control even in the most complex improv. “How do you know you love him? That’s a big word, big commitment.”

The chatter buzzes around them as Lucifer thinks, skin reddening as his heart thumps in his palms. “I didn’t know, at first. All I knew was that he was important. And then I knew that there was nobody else like him in my life.” He rubs the knuckle of his left thumb, kneading the skin around the bone. “It took time. I thought he was just a friend, someone that made me happy, that I could relax around. But… I think for friends, I only want to share certain parts of my life with them. I wanted to share my whole life with him— and I wanted to know everything about him too.” His cheeks are round with his smile. “And luckily, he wanted the same thing from me too.”

Not even a person with paint in their eyes would think they don’t mean everything to each other. Lucifer, smiling from thoughts alone, currently with a person that’s a train ride away from them both. He’s so unashamedly happy. A knot of jealously curls in Belial’s stomach. “You’re really the kind of couple on a feel-good family channel, huh.”

Lucifer’s head flops to the side to get a different angle. “Are you having trouble with Lucilius?”

“What? Seriously, you know Faa-san and I get it on well enough.”

“It’s not uncommon for people to get tied up trying to figure him out.”

“Well if you want to talk about being deliberately tied up, then—”

“…I’m alright, thank you.”

“Aww, you’re no fun.” Belial sighs dramatically, shrugging if only to get away from Lucifer’s shining eyes. 

Lucifer shifts his legs under the table. “My brothers, they’re not very good at people. They’re both very sharp, but just because they watch doesn’t mean they understand. Sometimes, being blunt is best.”

“Come on, Feru. I told you I don’t need advice.”

“Of course. I understand.” 

The waiter comes back with their drinks, and Belial ignores the burning on his tongue. 

 

* * *

 

The warm months get warmer. 

Belial’s shows and Lucilius’ reviews align, and neither of them have time to eat, much less cook when they get home. Takeout gets old pretty fast, and one day Lucilius has enough and demands that they make food for the week. Belial suggests stew, but he also knows that Lucilius survived on his father’s staff when he lived at home and food delivery when he was in school. Sometimes he makes himself a sandwich when he gets really desperate. Lucilius assures him that he knows what to do, that cooking is just like chemistry, and then returns with two potatoes and three pounds of stew beef. 

Belial noticed but never thought about how the apartment that was once his is now theirs. He can’t scoop up his things and divide them, because pieces of Lucilius are everywhere. Ink pens left on the table, held fast in the nocks of wood. Chargers for a kind of laptop he doesn’t own. Shoes a few sizes smaller than his own lined up in the shoe rack by the door. Whatever they have between them is perfect; the fortress without openings and its one challenger. A one to one, an equal vote, and anything else would shift that entirely. The void swallows and never gives anything back. He should know better than to expect anything else.

There is Lucilius and only Lucilius. Of all people, he shouldn’t feel like this. He is cunning, the one that drowns instead of drowning. That’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it’s supposed to be, but if Lucilius gets bored, then Belial knows he’s the one that’s going under. 

 

* * *

 

When what the weather report promised would be a drizzle explodes into a downpour that lasts all day, Lucilius comes home soaked. Umbrella or no umbrella doesn’t make a single difference when the wind blasts everyone equally. Belial had gotten home early and left his wet clothes in a sorry heap by the mouse cage in the bathroom, but he helps Lucilius change. 

Lucilius’ shirt is stuck to him, frills pressed flat against his shoulders and wrists. His lacy high collar is held up by two buttons at the back of his neck. The bottom one has come undone, but Belial buttons it back into place before loosening it again. He hands Lucilius a bathrobe, a spare shirt, a change of underwear. 

The dryers are in the laundry room in the basement, but the machines only tend to be full on the weekends. They stay in the basement just in case, watching their clothes tumble round and round. Their conversation lapsed into silence some time ago. They don’t always have to be talking around each other. Heat hisses from the pipes in the corner of the room, but Lucilius shivers; even if he’s put on some weight so he doesn’t look like a stick as much as he did when they first met, he’s still tragically skinny. Belial takes Lucilius by the shoulder and moves them closer together. 

Lucilius looks at him, and the color of his eyes are so icy and immovable, and Belial waits. Maybe this is the moment. But Lucilius turns away, putting distance between them. Belial likes this about Lucilius, that the other man doesn’t want him at all. So many other people do, and that’s so dull. He’s seen enough desires, overt and hidden, and even if they’re thrilling, they’re predictable. There is no charming Lucilius, who never falls for his lies. But he wants Lucilius to fall for him. 

Lucilius won’t sleep with him and that’s fine, Belial doesn’t need that from him. Everyone wants the bad boy to settle down with them. Everyone wants a dom to kneel for them. It’s exclusivity— make the person do something they wouldn’t do with anyone else, just for you. Lucilius loves Lucifer, but that kind of love Belial doesn’t want, he wants the call of the trumpets, the darkest shade of realization.

“It’s not that cold.”

“Says the person shivering! Mm, your tenacity is my favorite, but it’s good to be honest with yourself too.”

Lucilius clicks his tongue. “Making a fuss when it’s completely unnecessary. You love that, don’t you?”

A push. “I do, but that’s not the only thing.” Lucilius’ hair is still wet, but Belial curls his fingers around the longest strand of Lucilius’ bangs. “And how about you?”

Lucilius’ expression changes. His usual dead-eyed expressions aren’t from revulsion, but from sterile discontent. But this, this—

In a second, it shifts back to his usual sour apathy. “Idiotic. Use your head. You already know the answer to that.”

Belial flashes his sly smile. “Sorry, Faa-san.”

He’s such a fool. 

 

* * *

 

He thought that in the coming days, Lucilius would be thrown off balance, that an awkwardness would hang between them. Lucilius doesn’t, and goes about acting like nothing had happened. There are no pauses when Belial talks to him, no hesitations when Belial ends up nearby him. 

That’s good, Lucilius being jumpy would mean the fear got to him. But also— if he’s acting like that, it means that what Belial said _didn’t_ affect him. Lucilius has always been good at taking small pieces and storing them where they can’t bother him. Seems like this was just another thing to get shut away. 

That should cut deep, and it does, but it doesn’t temper the fire. In some way, he was hoping it would fade like the nonchalance that has settled between them but no, it still burns steadily, even after that. If that wasn’t enough to make the candle waver, then it’s not going to be wavering anytime soon. He wants a forever. He has never wanted that for himself, not one that involved other people. That realization grips him so tightly, down to his bone marrow.

It’s open, it’s vulnerable. It’s knowing that someone else has that much power over him, that no amount of trickery and lies can change that. Belial has already handed over his heart, his soul, and he falls for someone who does not and will not love him back. Someone like that could do anything— as soon as they lose interest. So this is what it’s like on the other side. The unknown isn’t a constant; it’s fear. 

He has to do something before it gets worse. 

Once Lucilius makes up his mind, he’s very unlikely to change it. Belial isn’t fighting an uphill battle, but an impossible one. Belial expects to feel resentful, but when he thinks about it, he’s surprisingly calm. Nobody chooses who they love, not even a void like Lucilius, whose clinical apathy only makes him shine brighter. The issue isn’t with Lucilius; Lucilius doesn’t need to change. 

Shedding his skin and emerging into a new life is nothing new. But he likes being Belial. He doesn’t want to fake his death and start over from scratch again, so all he needs to do is leave. 

 

* * *

 

It’s not like he’s terribly attached to anything in the apartment, save for a few crucial documents. Those are all in one folder, apart from the emergency stash of money in his drawer. He knows how to pack, and rolls up a few changes of clothes into a backpack. He can always crash at a few motels, tell Bubs that he won’t be showing up to practice for a bit and to not disclose his location. 

It wouldn’t be easy for him to take Eve. Her enclosure won’t fit on the back of his bike. If he had a car, maybe it could work, but there’s no point in calling a moving company. That would lead to more questions, and he needs to be discreet. Eve is napping in the corner of her enclosure, tired after a long day. Belial wishes he could pet her, but she’s sleeping soundly. He’s had her for a long time, but there’s always an end to all things. 

With a sigh, he moves past her enclosure. It’s fine, Lucilius has long since learned how to care for Eve. He knows Lucilius is fond of her, he’ll look after her. She’ll be in good hands. 

Lucilius isn’t pulling an all-nighter tonight for once, and has gone to bed at a reasonable time. He’s prone under the covers, fast asleep, doesn’t as much as shift when Belial enters the room. 

Belial could say something, but he doesn’t know what to say. All he can do is brush his fingers through Lucilius’s bangs once, softly enough to not disturb him. Belial watches for a few seconds, each one cutting away at his flesh. He wants to be the shadow of Lucilius’ great and terrible form. He wants to shake Lucilius awake, to ask for a word, a demand, a kiss, anything, and he’d give it. He wants to hear Lucilius’ voice reverberate through his head in the moment, not just in a memory. But if he wakes up Lucilius and feels those eyes on him, then he’d never leave. 

Belial squeezes Lucilius’ hand gently. Lucilius’ fingers are long, cold as icicles. 

He lets go, and Lucilius doesn’t stir. 

Like many times before, he slings his backpack on and leaves his phone on the table. Like many times before, he hits the road. Like many times before, nobody watches him go. It hasn’t hurt this much before.

 

* * *

 

On emergency funds, Belial calculates a quick budget enough for food and lodging with still enough for gas. He can pass himself off as a backpacker touring the country, unusual but not dangerous. Every town has a bed and breakfast, and he doesn’t need anything upscale.

He gets three hours outside the city, to where the buildings don’t climb and the stars are proud in the sky. He keeps his hands on the handles steadily, maneuvering his way through the endless hills, past dead animals torn apart by long-fled trucks. Out here it’s boring, he’d always thought. There’s nothing but trees, the same walls segmenting highways, signs promising that the roads are maintained, they promise, as his bike sails over crushed bottles and discarded scraps of paper. Now his tires nick the double line and there is nobody to hiss from behind and pinch his side. 

His life has been infected. The thorns have dug in, tight and snug. How deep has Lucilius pierced him, that his chill lingers even after being so far away?

His first night in the first hotel he sleeps on an uncomfortable bed. The second night in a spare room of a bed and breakfast he takes up more space on the couch than necessary. The third night, he stays on the road, helmet knocking away the breeze as he keeps going forward, to nowhere. 

Go back, his mind urges him. Turn around and go home. Just say it was a short trip, it would be so easy.

He doesn't have a destination in mind, just as long as it's away from Lucilius. The city is large enough that they could never pass each other on the street again, but he doesn't want to risk it. 

He's so stupid. Why did he run away from where he belonged? Lucilius saw him, from the strands of his hair to the bones of his feet. He didn’t ask Belial to cut himself up to make himself more palatable. But it's not enough to want to belong. All the wishing and hoping in the world isn't going to earn a place that hasn't been offered.  Could he say that Lucilius stretched out his hand, truly?

Even if Lucilius had only extended his hand halfway, now that’s it, forever. He’s burnt that bridge. There’s no going back. 

He goes to the store to grab some breakfast, and doesn’t turn his bike around. 

 

* * *

 

The poolroom in the next town is half full tonight. Mostly people shooting a couple of games, one table surrounded by a few girls taking their chances with some dice. The barstools are all old fashioned, covered in deep blue leather, facing a dark wooden bar. A few patrons are already inside, but activity is slow. The bartender has his eyes on a TV playing a comedy talk show, but the sound is off as the subtitles take time to load. A couple of patrons are chatting, but their conversation is low and not open to guests. 

Belial knows his tolerance is pretty good; whatever he wasn’t born with, he made sure to build up over the years. He’s gotten very good at holding his drink, and even better at keeping his words in. No matter how much he puts down tonight, nobody’s getting a single chirp out of him.

The first drink comes in a stout glass, the color of honey, the taste of a needle. 

He hadn’t thought of Sariel in years, at least not as a whole. The outline of him was always in the periphery, crouched over, watching the ants along the cracks along the sidewalk, but that was different than flesh and blood. The picture in the file Lucilius handed him was Sariel; older, still gloomy-looking, grown far beyond the person in his memory. He had survived, and Belial had left him behind. And he’s left behind someone again, making the same mistakes.

He wonders what Lucilius is doing now that he’s not there.

Probably not feeding himself. But Lucilius is dark as night, and the night is steady and constant. The dark is hard to comprehend, but it adapts. He might have waited a day or two to see if Belial returned, and when he realized Belial wasn’t coming back, he would go about rearranging the puzzle pieces. He had lived before Belial, and he would very easily live without Belial. By now, he would have perfectly reformatted himself to exist by himself again. He wouldn’t call Belial’s name. He wouldn’t look back. 

The first drink burned as it went down. The rest burns less. 

 

* * *

 

“We’re closing up,” the bartender warns him. Right, outside the city bars don’t stay open extremely late. He could down another bottle, but oh well. The moment he gets to his feet, the world swerves like he’s looking through the bottom of a glass. Well, that hasn’t happened in a while. Tonight isn’t good for nostalgia.

It’s not a good idea to get on his bike in this state, so he starts the engine and walks it down the road. This town isn’t going to jump out and get him: the fire hydrants all look good, and he doesn’t spot any people lurking in parking lots. No street tags by the houses, either. 

He can barely think without it feeling like his thoughts are being run through cotton. There’s no way he can count out money or make a reservation at a cheap motel in this state, so he’s better off just crashing somewhere off the road. It’s been a good while since he last slept in an open field, but he’s reliving a lot of his old actions today. The nearest one doesn’t have any houses on the periphery, and is off the road enough that nobody would come by and spot him as a fresh target. He walks ten minutes in, switches off the ignition and collapses. 

The grass tickles the back of his head. His brain feels like it’s been filled up with concrete. Above are the stars, eternally uncaring. He thinks of how the brightest star is a person and not a ball of gas eons away. He closes his eyes and falls asleep. 

A low-flying plane is ruining his dreams. Someone turn that engine off already, a guy's trying to sleep. No, a plane doesn't sound so rickety when it moves, that's a helicopter. Either way, it's making a racket, and Belial can't rest while it's around. Wait. Did he pass by an airport on the way here? Or a wealthy neighborhood?

He opens his eyes to a bright light taking up the sky as the humming gets louder. Wind batters his face, even from this distance, and the red safety lights on the back of the helicopter blink mercilessly. It’s coming down, and not terribly far away from him either.

Well damn, he took a nap in some rich person's field. He doesn't remember seeing any private property signs on the way in, but what are words. He's so drunk he's forgotten how to read. The helicopter is landing smooth, and nobody’s shouted at him from a loudspeaker to clear the way yet, but it’s only a matter of time. It's not like he's never been chased out of places before, so he gets up to apologize. If he doesn't make a scene, they usually let him leave, no problem.

The helicopter touches down and stays down, and the passenger side opens. It’s hard to make out the approaching shape in the floodlight, but there is a star in the night, pale and radiant with fury.

"Ugh, this is the worst. Stop playing games with me, this is such a bad joke." He rubs his eyes, but Lucilius is still there, hazy but present. Well alright, if he's going to suffer through hallucinations, at least they sent him a hot one, right from the abyss of his heart. "Can you talk too?"

"So the first words out of your blithering mouth is a bad joke?"

"So you can talk!" This is such a detailed hallucination. He hasn’t tripped out this bad since university. The details shouldn’t be that much of a surprise considering how he knows everything about Lucilius, from his too-short nails to how his scar curves jagged around his neck. Hours studying and committing to memory, all to create something that aches. “There’s no way you can be here.”

The hallucination moves his head to the side a fraction. “And why wouldn’t I be here?”

“That’s easy. You exist, you don’t chase. You don’t even chase down your enemies,” Lucilius gets them to implode instead, “or your allies.” Or whatever he is. “So you can’t be here right now.”

“After what you did, you think I wouldn’t come find you?”

Belial reflexively smiles. Not sure. Never sure. 

“I already know who your employer is.”

“…My employer?”

“It was very easy to get them to talk. All that’s left is you.”

All these words are sending a drumming down his brain. It hurts to think. “What are you talking about? My record company? You didn’t have to come all the way out here to tell me someone bought out my contract. Bubs is going to call telling me all the details in the morning, probably.”

“They sold you out. And there’s no longer ‘they’, Paradise owns them now. Owns you.”

“Your dad really wants my music that much?” Belial lets out a sigh. “Uh, sure. Why not. I guess I’m going to have to start calling your old man ‘boss’, then.”

The hallucination narrows his eyes. The field is silent except for the helicopter blades. “You really are drunk.”

“Hell yeah I am. I’ve got plenty of shots in before I left.” And this alcohol haze illusion is gorgeous, but it aches. He’s tired. “What am I to you?”

“What sort of stupid question is that? It won’t change what’s going to happen.”

“But it will.” Belial looks at the hallucination and then it clicks— he doesn’t understand. That nonchalance is usually stunning, and it still is, but now that glimmer also swirls with pain. If he’s not going to be able to tell the real Lucilius, back home doing work probably, at least this hallucination is good practice. “You’re better than any messiah.”

The hallucination pauses, the chilliness that fuels him now stuck under his bones. He opens his mouth but says nothing, eyes narrowed, and all he manages is, “What?”

“But you’re not a light, you’re the shade, and it’s hard to imagine what it would be like without you. I’d do anything to keep you around,” with him, “—or so I thought.” He wants to, but he can’t. Belial can thrive in limbo, letting other people drift and fall, but now he’s the one drifting. He’s never been twisted up like this before. “I would do anything, I really would, for someone else— for you. Only you. And I shouldn’t.”

The hallucination is still looking at him like that. 

“If I could live forever, then I wouldn’t mind chasing after you, playing this game of ours. I’d have all the time in the world, after all. But that’s not true.” He sucks in a short breath. “If you don’t feel the same then… then I’m just wasting my time.”

Nothing, for several minutes. The hallucination levels him with that flat stare, unbelieving. Then he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, brows creased in annoyance. “I see. So that’s what this is about.” He holds up a hand, spreads his fingers, and then clenches them into a fist. He puts his arm down. “You are being absurd. And you’re drunk. That’s enough of your nonsense. Get your bike. We’re going home.”

“No.”

The hallucination had started to turn, but he stops on his heel. “No?”

He’s already made his choice, and there’s no point in getting wistful, even to a phantom. “You can’t taunt me like this.” 

Whatever Belial is saying, the hallucination’s not having it. He stomps around Belial and pushes him forward. “Move.”

Belial resists. “No. I’m not going—”

He moves his arm to shake the hallucination off, but his motor skills are shot and he’s a lot stronger than he looks, so his elbow goes straight into the hallucination’s face. 

Oh, shit.

Wait, Belial realizes in the split second he gets once he feels a tight hold on his arm. Doesn’t Lucilius know self-defe—

 

* * *

 

He comes to as the tide. Consciousness creeps in, lapping at his eyes, and pulls away again. A dark ceiling, painted but not fully sanded. The air is quiet, but faraway cars murmur on their journeys somewhere. Old cologne, like it was sprayed long ago and never reapplied, and the stark smell of chemicals. He finds his fingers first, then the rest of his body, lying down on a bed. This is his ceiling, and this is his bed.

“You’re awake.” Lucilius is sitting in a chair next to him, shuts his book with a snap. His glare could burn faster than a superacid. 

Well. He’s fucked. Dear God, he is sorry for all the sins he committed, except for the sins that were awesome. 

He tries to sit up, but pain pangs across his jaw, and the fog in his eyes isn’t a hangover. “Ow! How did you hit so hard? You’re so skinny!”

“You swung first.”

“That’s not the point! You’re all bone! And why does my head feel like you played percussion with it?”

“That’s probably the sedative wearing off.”

“Really. You tranq’ed me.” 

“It’s just propofol.” 

“Just propofol.” Belial gives up on his attempts to sit up, and lies prone in silence. Lucilius hasn’t paralyzed him, which means he hasn’t poisoned him either. This is his bed, but he lies there like he doesn’t belong with his breath in his chest. Lucilius would bite it out of the air if he dared let it go free. 

Lucilius really is here, this is no dream. He is sitting there, dark circles from years of little sleep, hair too light for any color at all, pale above how grim his expression is. Lucilius always looks unhappy but he doesn’t always look angry, and now he is radiant with it, the brightness of a star collapsing into a void. “You’ve made a large mistake.”

“Want to see something else that’s large—”

Lucilius chops him between the eyes. “Evidently, you’re doing just fine.” Their bed is large and Lucilius is small, and he has to pull himself across the sheets, fingers digging into the fabric like claws into flesh. Belial swallows, wondering if he’d be devoured, and if Lucilius would clean his teeth with his bones. “If you wanted to end things, then you could have simply told me. I wouldn’t stop you, and I wouldn’t keep you from going. Once we’re done, it’s over for good. We’d never see each other again. I can tolerate that. What I will not tolerate is someone running like a coward, no reason given.” Lucilius leans over him, gripping his face, thumbs dangerously close to Belial’s eye sockets. “Did you honestly think you could disrespect me like that?”

“So you came and found me, my prince charming.”

“Of course I did. If you died in a ditch somewhere, you’d spare me the pleasure of ripping you apart.”

Well, if he’s going to die, it might as well be by Lucilius’ hand. He’d be really annoyed if anyone else managed to kill him off, but at the hands of the man he loves? He can live with that. Exhaling, he relaxes. “Got it. Do whatever you want to me.”

Lucilius frowns, pulling his face close. “You’re not defeated, or broken.”

“Nope. But if that’s what you’re going to do, that’s what you’re going to do. Give me a taste for guro play. My blood on your face is going to look so good. If you’re going to desecrate my corpse, at least make it sexy.”

Lucilius stares at him, deadpan.

Belial winks at him. “Live fast, die young, leave a sexy corpse.”

Lucilius drops him, letting his head flop onto the pillow. “Now I want you to live, if only out of spite.”

“Showing mercy?”

“No, but at the very least, you’re likely not a company spy.”

A what? Belial’s mind slowly replays Lucilius’ confusing words under the helicopter searchlight and it clicks. “Is that why you were saying strange things? No way, that’s not me.”

“Hm.”

“Really, Faa-san. I’m not— that’s not it. Why would you think that, anyway?”

“I may be the outlier, but I am still a Bahamut. A stranger could try to get close to me. A pretext of a relationship is an easy way to gain access to my father.”

Belial’s heart drops. “No. No, no, no, no, no, that’s definitely not it. That’s not why I left, believe me, I wasn’t running like that. No way.”

“It seems so. But you are going to tell me. Why did you run? Now tell me the truth, or my scalpel goes in your throat.” 

“Aww, can’t I do both?” But he sees danger in Lucilius’ expression and knows not to push his luck. “I told you already.”

“You told me what.”

“I’m terrified of you.”

“You should be.”

“No, not like that. Like…” He sighs, the alcohol long gone, the sedatives worn off, and there is only him and his heart. “The only person I should do anything for is myself. But then there’s you.” And to have his heart in Lucilius’ palm, never sure if Lucilius will hold it mutely, file his nails on it, or let it fall because he never knew he held it, that bloomed fear like a virus. 

Between them, silence. 

Lucilius’ glare is sharp enough to draw blood. He grabs Belial by the shoulders and violently shakes him. “You really are stupid. You are the most— blatantly idiotic person I know! Has your brain molded over? You, pretending like you know the world— that’s your pride talking, you simpleton!” 

If Lucilius shakes him any harder, his neck might snap. “Faa-san, sto—”

“You and your addled pride think you can come up with fantasies for such a stupid reason?”

Belial latches onto Lucilius’ arms, halting the earthquake. “Did I hurt you?”

“Of course you didn’t,” Lucilius snarls, and jerks to dislodge Belial’s fingers. But Belial holds tight and holds his own, feeling the raging pulse across Lucilius’ wrists until that abyssal fury has tempered. “If you didn’t want to leave, then why did you?”

“Love is a mass of contradictions—”

“Shut up!”

Belial lets go and reaches up, holds Lucilius’ face in his hands. “I won’t leave you again. And if I do, I’ll tell you straight, no screwing around.”

Lucilius goes quiet for a few seconds, ice-eyes watching. “You say that. But you say a lot of things.”

“I mean it. I swear.”

“Interesting. What do you swear on? Your band? Your bike? Eve? I know just how much those things matter.” Now, he does. “What’s worth something, that I should believe you?”

“I swear on you.”

He wonders if Lucilius thinks he’s kidding, with how his gaze hollows. “There really is nothing in that head of yours.”

“And yet, I have the best eye for things.”

“Hm,” Lucilius says, and kisses him. He tastes of nothing but he carries the sharpness of frostbite, the sting of raw fire before the chill settles. How he breathes drums pleasure down Belial’s neck to his heart. He could fall apart into ashes, but he draws Lucilius closer to him and lets himself be burned.

Burned he is, the hot snap of fire shooting down his veins when Lucilius straddles him, his hair falling forward and forming a white curtain around Belial’s face. Belial’s fingers find Lucilius’ sides, the narrow angles of him, the body he’s known but barely felt, everything he’s ever loved. Lucilius’ ice-eyes, with dark circles that have dark circles, watching Belial closely now. His long fingers, the ones that curve around ink pens and crunch up scrap paper, undoing the buttons of his shirt. 

It hurts to move his arms so fast, but he manages to pull Lucilius’ shirt shut.

Lucilius blinks, frozen for a moment. “What are you doing?”

“What are _you_ doing? Have some modesty!”

“I don’t want you of all people telling me anything about modesty!” Lucilius grabs his nose and pinches. “You brag so much about your hedonism, and now you’re turning it down?”

“I’m here for that plenty, and you know it. But— look, there’s nothing that will kill my hard-on faster than someone forcing themselves.”

Lucilius glares, all teeth and fury. “Does it look like I’m not consenting, you fool?”

“Well... no. But it’s kind of unusual for you—”

Lucilius grabs Belial by the collar, gripping so hard the fabric creases. “Do you really think you can force me into doing anything I wouldn’t want to do?”

“Of course not. Then what’s this? A little experiment?”

“I don’t need to experiment. I already know the results.”

Oh, Belial thinks as Lucilius snares him once again. 

Oh.

 

* * *

 

“Congratulations.”

“Congratulations.”

“Would you two stop it?”

“What!” Gran pops his mouth off his bright pink bubble tea straw. “I meant it!”

Djeeta sighs, but she’s still grinning when she nudges his side. “I don’t know, I think you deserve a congrats. Not many people get to elbow their man in the face and still get to hook up with them.”

He parses the entirety of her sentence and turns five shades paler. “I elbowed Faa-san in the face.”

“Yeah, you sure did. And he kicked your ass afterward.”

When Belial went to get dessert for Lucilius, the twins followed him, taking everyone else’s orders so they wouldn’t have to get up. He really should have known they had ulterior motives. They usually do.

“You know, most people spend their whole lives looking for someone that’s steady, and you just walked away, huh?”

Belial at least has the decency to feel guilty. None of that comes on his face, and he snatches away the last roasted chestnut in the bowl that Gran was reaching for. Gran makes a face, aghast, and Belial pops the chestnut into his mouth. Gran shoots back with, “So how did it go? First time and all.”

Well... bad. It could not be more obvious that Lucilius had no idea what he was doing, and only knew theory not practice. Objectively speaking, it was the worst sex that Belial’s had in his entire life. 

Belial could not have been happier. 

“Fantastic, actually.”

“Aw, you. And what did he think?” Gran asks, sweet as the sugar cookies piled up in his plate. 

Afterward, Belial’s anxiety was through the roof. His silver tongue had failed him, so all he managed to say was, “Had fun?”

Lucilius responded, “Eh.”

“It was a real blow. I mean, I’ve been doing this for a while, and I like to think I’ve gotten pretty good in bed. I don’t what I was expecting, but it sure wasn’t that.”

Gran laughs so hard that he chokes on his drink. 

“I’m just surprised Lucilius changed his mind.” Djeeta plops down onto the floor. Having filled up the plates she carried over for Lucifer, Sandalphon, and herself, she’s all checked out. “He seemed adamant about it as long as we’ve known him, probably?”

“Don’t worry, he still hasn’t changed his mind.”

She squints up at him.

“It’s the exception, not the rule.” 

Lucilius didn’t say much after, and Belial certainly wasn’t going to ask for a round two. Sure, there’s the refractory period and all, but he was still shocked that round one happened in the first place. Lucilius cut the silence by saying, “We’re never doing that again,” turned over, and knocked out for ten hours.

“…So we’re never doing it again.”

“Now _that_ sounds like Lucilius. But still. Maybe underneath the three layers of clothes, he does have a heart. Possibly.” Djeeta has already delved into temptation and has started snacking on her slices of roll cake. “You’re okay with this between you and him, by the way? I mean, you were fine before, but…”

“Of course I am. If never again means never again, then that’s all okay. The body’s not all there is to love in a guy.”

“That’s pretty reasonable.”

“Besides, who says penetration’s the only way to get off? I’ve had a couple of things I’ve wanted to try over the years, but everyone wants it old and vanilla. Faa-san and I met because he whipped out a taser, you know? Now I can get _creative_.”

“…Never mind.”

“He’s totally going to castrate you, just saying,” Gran points out.

“If he does, I can’t say I wouldn’t miss my pride and joy, but it’s not like I need it to achieve an orga—”

“Well. Glad you’re happy.”

He is. He’s never going to run away again, not unless either of them want out. Now that he has Lucilius, he’s never going back. 

He is also not telling these two that. Snaking his arms around their waists, he pulls them close. “So thanks for all your help, but it looks like we’ll have to end our agreement. You two had a nice long run, but all things come to an end.”

Djeeta laughs and snorts at the same time. “You wish.”

“Let’s put it like this,” Gran says, carefully arranging slices of pie onto a third plate. “You may be telling the truth now, but what would Lucio think if he found out that you two have been lying all this time?”

A nerve twitches above Belial’s eyebrow and he drops them both. “You get our tracks a week before release date and not a month.”

“Fine by me,” Gran scoops a large spoonful of ice cream onto the strawberry pie. 

It’s impressive how the twins manage to balance plates on their arms like trained waiters. “Order up!” Djeeta yells when she enters the room, scattering the dishes to everyone accordingly. 

“What were you three doing?” Sandalphon squints at them suspiciously.

“Bullying Belial.”

Gran gasps at his sister. “No, we weren’t!”

“Yes, you were,” Belial sighs, as if he’s been sincerely wounded. “But you know me, I love being talked down to. It’s a real turn-on.”

Sandalphon makes a face. 

“Did you and Lucilius resolve whatever argument you had?” Lucifer asks, the easy cadence of his tone carrying smooth through the room. 

It’s no surprise he doesn’t know. The family knew that _something_ happened, but not exactly what. Lucilius sure wasn’t going to make any announcements, and Belial prefers that he keeps the more intimate details to himself. The important things, that’s between him and Lucilius, and nobody else. “We’re doing fine now. It was just a bad time, you know, every couple has one.”

Lucio looks at Lucilius for confirmation, who shrugs. 

Djeeta pries her phone out of her pants and starts flipping through it. “If you really want to see, we got video.”

It takes all of Belial’s self-control to not throw Djeeta’s phone out the window. Or dunk it into her coffee. “How did you record that?”

“Please,” she snorts, “who do you think was flying the helicopter?”

Of course they were. He shouldn’t have been expecting anything less. 

“This I have to see,” Sandalphon says, making to get up. 

Belial is certain that Djeeta’s not lying about the video, and Sandalphon would be more than happy to see one of his humiliating moments on camera. He needs a distraction. When Sandalphon squeezes past Belial, Belial reaches up and pinches him. “Wow, Sandy. I knew your legs were fine, but this— damn, talk about soft _and_ firm. Lucifer must be getting good mileage out of—”

Sandalphon punches him through the table.

Lucio sighs, mortified but not surprised. 

Lucifer opens his mouth to say something, but Sandalphon cuts him off by yelling, “That was justified!”

“Lucio, could you tell one of the staff to bring in a replacement table?” Bahamut says, all without putting his cup of coffee down. 

Belial picks himself up, dazed but no worse for the wear. No dizziness or other symptoms of a concussion. The table wasn’t very sturdy anyway, and would’ve buckled if someone leaned on it too hard. This isn’t the worst that has happened to him. He laughs, brazen. Lucilius had given him a dry look at first, but that’s evolved to flat acceptance. 

The commotion hasn’t stopped Djeeta. Whatever Djeeta’s playing on her phone definitely doesn’t sound like a regular phone recording. It’s way too loud. 

“I worked hard on the split screens,” Gran says, proud. “And the slo-mo playback.”

“I synched the air horns,” Djeeta adds.

“You two are the actual worst,” Belial grumbles.

Lucio looks like he’s trying very hard to keep control of his face, torn between admonishing his little brother and laughing himself. 

Lucilius glances over at the video, decides it’s not worth his time, and returns to his tea. 

Sandalphon stops the playback video, and looks very tired. “Unbelievable.”

“It’s very romantic,” Belial asserts.

“Uh-huh.” 

“Nobody asked for your worthless opinion,” Lucilius says even-toned from behind his teacup, and god, Belial loves him more than life. Belial shoos away the sharp pain in his head to kiss Lucilius on the cheek. Lucilius snarls at him, but the razor stays in his pocket. 

“That’s… quite something.” Lucio looks to his father, who for once seems to have a thoughtful expression on his face. “Father, it looks like you want to say something.”

Bahamut nods, deep in thought. “That does clarify a few things. I was wondering where my helicopter went.”


	7. The Ones Connected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several people were nice enough to make some fanart for this fic! Take a look at them!  
>   
> From Yamoo: [A tender scene from Chapter 5](https://twitter.com/oyakorodesu/status/1192536362026536960?s=21)  
> -[The twins](https://twitter.com/oyakorodesu/status/1192685502660395008?s=21)  
> -[Lucio and the twins](https://twitter.com/oyakorodesu/status/1192700848133918721?s=21)
> 
> From Lera: [The helicopter](https://lipt-97.tumblr.com/post/190956250679/hello-today-i-bring-you-a-comictomorrow-i-will)
> 
> From Ara: [Chapter 6](https://twitter.com/makarakaja/status/1209715108680589313?s=21)
> 
> From Jw: [Faa and Eve](https://twitter.com/jwntay/status/1213876022287798272?s=21)

_The camera turns on abruptly. It’s morning, with bare trickles of sunlight coming through the blinds. Belial is dressed in a sleeveless shirt that is far too low cut. Eve is halfway draped across his shoulders, halfway on the table that the camera, likely a phone, is perched on. She slithers towards it, drawn by the bright lights, but he coaxes her back._

 

**Belial**

Hello, everyone. It’s been a while since I went live. Thanks for all your questions the other day, so let’s go for another round.

 

_(Drop your hair routine king)_

**Belial**

It matters less what brand you use, and more how skilled you are with your fingers.

_He licks his lips, and gives the camera a sly wink._

If you wanna get it up like mine, then get comfortable with some twisting and tugging. I do favor scents with a little kick though– think patchouli, labdanum, and clove, and you're on the right track!

 

_(seven trumpets is my favorite album of ALL TIME!! since you wrote most of the lyrics, is there a line you're proud of, or that you enjoy singing?)_

**Belial**

While I don't play favorites, I did have fun writing the wordplay in 'Contradictions'. Each line rolls off my tongue in a satisfying way. I'm glad it's just as satisfying when it's my tongue in your ear.

 

_(your scream in Something Unpleasant sends chills down my spine every single time omfg how do you do it?? were you born with that range or do you have a voice coach??)_

**Belial**

I figured it out as I went along! If you want change, make it happen yourself. I just happened to have a lot of practice screaming, if you know what I mean.

 

_(if you were going to quit music tomorrow and start a new career, what would you be?)_

**Belial**

Fashion designer. Lots of black, lots of cleavage.

 

_(How is Eve!!)_

**Belial**

Eve’s doing just great. Aren’t you, darling?

_He bops her on the head with a finger. Eve gives a big yawn._

She just shed her skin the other day, so she’s nice and fresh! Silky smooth, the best there is. 

 

_(you seem really close with your bandmates in your interviews, so i've been wondering: are you guys friends outside of work or is it for show? and is "This One’s To Annoy Beelzebub" an inside joke, or is the rivalry real?)_

**Belial**

We go out to eat, we party together, I like to think we're all good friends... especially dear old Bubs, my partner in crime, couldn't have done any of this without him! I know he's watching this, so I can only imagine his face right now.

_His smile can only be described as smug._

I'm sure he's overcome with gratitude for my friendship! 

 

_(your outfits are so incredible, even if you do tend to take them off on stage lol not that I'm complaining!! is there anyone on the planet with a smile cuter than yours hehe)_

**Belial**

Eve! 

 

_(I've been your fan since darkherald and meeting you backstage last summer was the best moment of my life! What made you all decide to use nicknames instead of your real names? Just privacy or was there a deeper meaning to the Biblical references?)_

**Belial**

Belial is my real name. As for the rest of the band, well, you'll have to ask them yourself next time you see us. 

 

_(when eating a muffin, my friend always goes for the top bc it's the best part, but I start with the bottom and save the toppings for last. so which do you prefer, belial: top or bottom?)_

**Belial**

Ah, a sticky situation indeed! I've done both many times. If I have a friend who's enthusiastic about the top, I'd happily start on bottom. But it's hard to resist going for instant gratification, isn't it? I do enjoy a good muffin, especially with cream cheese or butter to melt on my tongue…

_He punctuates this by dragging his tongue along his top lip, slow and pronounced._

I just have to dig my fingers into all the soft bits. Hope that helps!

 

_(I forgot my question but I love you,, sending you good vibes!!)_

**Belial**

Oh, how kind of you. I'll make sure to pick up new batteries before they get here.

 

_(Please marry me?? Please?)_

**Belial**

Sorry, Eve is my best girl. 

 

**Belial**

Well, that’s enough for today. Thanks for tuning in, hope I’ve given you quite the fun show.

_As he makes to turn off the camera, it pans down his shirt._

Until next time.

  
  
  


“What have you been ordering?” Lucilius grumbles, harshly throwing down the two boxes he had to haul up a flight of stairs. “This makes your sixth box this week.”

Belial is on the floor with his back to the couch, stitching a patch onto one of his jackets to cover up a hole. “Yesterday was bedding for Eve, you know that. And art books for the next set of singles. And my cute panda hat!” When Lucilius kicks the boxes Belial’s way, he catches them with a whistle. “Careful, that could be fragile!”

“Tell the delivery people to bring them up next time.”

“We don’t have a doorman, you know. I thought you liked this place because we _don’t_ have a doorman.”

Lucilius ignores him, and goes straight to the kitchen. Belial hears the pop of a can opening, and the hiss of the oven turning on, so Lucilius is probably heating up some soup. 

“Want to do a little unboxing? It’ll be a nice change of pace.”

“You can order whatever you want,” Lucilius says, not turning around.

“I know I can, that’s not the point. Point is, I’ve ordered so much, I don’t know what’s what, I don’t even know what’s in these. Let’s have some fun.”

Lucilius purses his mouth, turns off the tap, hisses when Belial sneaks up behind him and kisses the side of his head. “Food first.”

The first box is shallow but long, spanning the whole length of Lucilius’ poster. Balancing his soup on one knee and the box on the other, Lucilius makes quick work of the tape and wrapping, pulling the contents free with a harsh methodology. He sees what’s inside, and his usual blank expression turns into annoyance. “What is this?”

“Ooh,” Belial twists around a smile. “I can thank you for that one. Your taser awakened me to the allure of electrostimulation. It’s been some time since then, but I’m all for a round two.”

Lucilius sighs. “This is a cattle prod.”

“Oh yeah. You know, when we met, that was the biggest turn on of my life. A gorgeous man coming right at me? I could bed a thousand beauties and it wouldn’t be the same as that. I want to have some fun, for old time’s sake.”

“Do what you want. But I am not taking you to the hospital.”

“Fair enough,” Belial hums, and stores it away for later. 

The second package is not another cattle prod. Lucilius quirks and eyebrow when he sees the glossy black stilettos carefully wrapped in tissue paper. The soles, including the curve of the sharp heel, is a deep red. “These are far too small for you.”

“They’re not for me.” Belial takes them out, balancing them in his hands, and then slips one onto Lucilius’ foot. 

Lucilius stares down at the shoe for a long moment, then to Belial, chilly-voiced, “What is this?”

“A perfect fit, that’s what. You look good in black, but _damn_ , that splash of red on you? Classic. It’s a deep thrill.”

“I never told you my shoe size,” Lucilius says, resigned to the fact that Belial somehow knows all his measurements without ever having properly measured him. “And I can’t walk in heels.”

“You don’t have to. All you need to do is put your weight down,” Belial hums, guiding Lucilius’ foot to his chest, pressing the flat of the spike heel right in the middle of his chest. 

Lucilius lets Belial hold his foot aloft, mind processing what’s going on. “Is this something sexual?”

“It might be.”

“If I put my full weight on you, I’ll drive this straight in.”

“That’s why you’re not going to put your full weight on. Just enough.”

Lucilius’ fingers twitch, and Belial isn’t sure if he’s going to throw the shoes off or drive the heel into his throat instead. Either way, he’s delighted, all shades of Lucilius whispers damnation, and Belial is ready to be damned. 

“You will not put your hands anywhere nearby me,” Lucilius says, watching a dim glow light in Belial’s eyes, “and you will not get a single speck of filth on my papers. Or my soup.”

“Right now?” Belial asks, suddenly breathless. “Faa-san, you really know how to please.”

The tip of the stiletto is just as cold as the hand Lucilius places on his cheek. “Patience,” he commands, beautiful and dangerous, and Belial jumps straight into overdrive. 

 

* * *

 

Belial has brought home several of Lucilius’ favorite snacks; several bars of milk chocolate, a tub of vanilla ice cream, wasabi peas. He was expecting to surprise Lucilius, but alas, Lucilius is falling asleep on the couch. He has been doing god knows what for god knows how long and now he’s exhausted. He’s always been low energy, his determination keeping him awake, but even that fades once in a while. As the cold tempers, he starts to slide forward, but Belial nudges Lucilius’ head onto his shoulder. Just when Belial thinks Lucilius will wake up and walk away, he grunts and lets himself be guided.

Belial could move. Or he could stay here and marvel. He’s squeezed his hand around shards of broken glass and hasn’t been pricked. They could gouge him, but they won’t. 

Lucilius is his, and he belongs to Lucilius. All the proof is there, in what they’ve seen of each other, in what they’ve done for each other. The fear that Lucilius would walk out on him, at least not without a good reason, is just a vague memory. This is permanent, this is for real. 

Permanence. Belial sucks in a deep breath, lets out a long exhale. When was the last time he thought of something remaining, something staying? To not think of the next transformation, the next camouflage, when did he believe that could ever happen? But he has proof, so much of it, for once.

Forever would be nice. 

 

* * *

 

“Avatar!” Iss yells as Belial carries her and Az into the studio’s back room after practice. “If we’re not back in five minutes, please come get us and throw Belial out the window!”

“Now, now, I’m not some creep.”

Avatar shoots a thumbs up.

“Don’t agree to it, either!”

He dumps them roughly on the couch, watching them bounce as they try to right themselves. Iss finds her way close to vertical, where Az sits with her head by the seat cushions, laughing. 

“Okay,” he says once, to get their attention. “I need some advice. I’m having some boyfriend problems, and I want to make it right.” He folds his fingers. The ceiling fan whirs steadily overhead. “I want to escalate things, and I’m not sure how to ask him.”

A beat. “Who are you?” Iss asks.

“It’s not that bad.”

“I didn’t say it was bad. But did those words come out of your mouth? You care about keeping a long-term thing long-term? You?”

“I think it’s sweet,” Az chirps.

“Look. You’re the only two here who are in a relationship. Avatar’s single, Bubs I _know_ is single. And you know that whatever I tell him he’ll use against me.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” Iss mumbles. “Look, I’m glad you think well of us enough to ask us for advice, but I don’t think we can really give you advice on how to convince your S.O. to try out different kinks. I think you’d know about that way, way more than we do.”

“I am very well versed on the hedonistic and the sublime. But what about a different kind of escalation?” Saying it out loud is fear in his soul, walking into a dark room with no idea what’s inside. “What about… marriage.”

The two girls stare at him. Az pulls on the back of his neck, knocking their foreheads together. “He-llo, Belial? Are you feeling okay?”

“As alert and perky as ever.”

“It sounded like you were just talking about settling down with someone.”

“I was.”

Iss wordlessly gets up, leaves the room, and returns a minute later with a beer. “Okay,” she cracks open the bottle, “so you want to settle down with the mystery man. You’re really sure you want to do this? It is you, after all.”

“I think so. I don’t know. I guess? Commitment’s a pretty new thing for me.” 

Iss looks at the tension on his brow and nods. “Alright… we’ll try.”

“Thaanks.” The girls are not married, so there isn’t an exact parallel. But, “Then how did you two get together? Were you worried about it?

“Mm, I don’t really know. Iss and I, we’ve been together forever.” Az gives Iss’ hand a tiny squeeze. “We argue and stuff sometimes but that’s not… I don’t remember being worried about whether she’d say yes or not. She just did.”

“Right, I keep forgetting you’re high school sweethearts. People like you actually exist.”

Az sticks her lip out in a pout. “No talk from someone who prides themselves on going solo!” 

Ouch. “Alright, alright. How did you two get together then?”

“Junior year. Cerberus’ house party,” Iss takes a long sip from her drink. “It was a wild time, Az and I were chatting, and somehow it got to whether we were single or not. I asked, she said yes.”

“Also, she was drunk,” Az giggles at the memory.

“I was really drunk.”

Maybe he should get drunk. Then again, the last time he got plastered, he was running away from all his commitments yet again. Maybe not.

Az taps her chin, airily gazing at the ceiling. “Do you know someone who was nervous before they got in their relationship? Maybe they’ll be a better person to ask.”

He does know someone who wasn’t confident. He knows someone who’s still not confident. It’ll take work, but he knows how to use his tongue well. Winking at them, he gets to his feet. “I know just the one. Thanks girls, you’re the best.”

“We still haven’t met him, you know!” Iss yells after him. 

 

* * *

 

“Hello, welcome to—” Sandalphon’s vaguely pleasant expression shifts to one emotional high to the next. 

“Hey there, Sandy.” Belial props his elbows on the counter, grinning up at him. “How’s the afternoon shift going?”

“Belial, get the hell out before I—“

Belial tsks him, shaking his head. “Is that the kind of customer service you offer here? You need to go back to the manual.”

Sandalphon’s fury glows brighter than the sun. “Can I take your order?” he hisses out, service training temporarily overriding his annoyance. 

“Can I get uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh a smoothie?”

“We don’t sell smoothies here,” Sandalphon replies, robotic.

“Hm, shame. In that case, can I get a green tea frapp made with almond milk, no syrup, put in three stevia, and a banana, extra ice, no whip, double blended?”

Sandalphon is trying very visibly to not jump across the counter and throttle Belial on the spot.

“—and a cake pop.”

“Too bad I can’t decaf that,” Sandalphon grumbles through gritted teeth, and tells him the total.

“Also, can I speak to your manager?”

If Sandalphon could kill with his eyes, he would. He practically throws Belial’s card back in his face. “Please step to the side, a manager will be with you shortly.”

“Thanks Sandy, you’re a doll.”

Sandalphon wastes no time in ignoring him and turning his attention to the next customer, a soft spoken old woman who asks for her usual. The shift is instant; gentler expression, more polite speech, tense but more at ease. Sandalphon’s sweet to the people he likes. Too bad he doesn’t like Belial.

A young woman storms out of the back room, head poised high, obviously in command. She’s way shorter than Belial, but she snaps her smile on, whip-fast. “Hi, I’m the manager. Is there a problem?” The hand she runs through her hair is slender, nails tipped with red polish. 

“A problem. No, no. You see, I’m Sandy’s friend.”

She peers cautiously at him, red eyeshadow creasing around her eyelashes. “Friend?”

“Family-friend.”

She angles her head towards the cash register. “Sandalphon, do you know this guy?”

“Unfortunately,” Sandy grumbles.

“A pretty girl like you in charge of this establishment wouldn’t miss anything. Like an employee slacking off, for example.”

She scoffs, his slick compliment not fazing her, but she acknowledges his attempt. “I thought you weren’t making a complaint.”

He returns her handshake. “Not at all. I don’t want to cause trouble, so if you could let me know when Sandy goes on break, I’d appreciate that.”

“Ohh, I see.” Her hand is small in his, as she palms the twenty. “Sandalphon! Can you go and sweep the floor by the bathroom?”

“Didn’t Leona just finish…”

“Nothing wrong with sweeping again. Cain! Hop on cash!”

Sandalphon ends up grabbing the broom, unhappily toiling away and ignoring Belial winking his way. He does what he’s told, content to clean and be free of customers for a moment— on the opposite side of the store to where Belial’s sitting. But Belial has patience and a free schedule, and he inhales the aroma of his coffee and sips lightly at the cup until Sandalphon has no choice but to make a round his way. He’s fast on his feet, but Belial is faster, grabbing his arm and pulling him onto the booth cushions. 

“Aren’t you a hard worker? You must get so tired, toiling on your feet all day. Come, keep a guy company.”

Sandalphon makes a face, like he’d just stuck his hand into a swamp and couldn’t find a way out. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

“I came to talk. I couldn’t get answers out of dear old Lucifer, so you’ll have to do.” Truth is, he hasn’t asked Lucifer at all. Lucifer is too full of vague confidence, so sure that whatever he has with Sandalphon will remain, in one form or another. But Sandalphon, who pauses between questions, who runs his nails on his cuffs when he thinks nobody is looking, he knows what it’s like to be unsure. 

“So, Sandy. What made you decide to be Lucifer’s pet? Was it just his money or is he just a good lay?”

“Belial, I swear to god.”

“Well, Lucifer has no fear of rejection, so that just leaves you. Come on, tell me.”

Sandalphon bares his teeth, dark but not inscrutable. “Why do you care?”

“I want to compare notes. I never heard the full story from Lucifer. But if you don’t want to share, then I can always pull it out of him. It’ll be a nice, long night, just the two of us.”

His shoulders tense. Everyone knows that Lucifer isn’t the type to cheat for any reason, but Belial also knows Sandalphon hates the idea of them drinking together. “I asked,” Sandalphon admits after a long few minutes of glaring. “He seemed interested in me, and I figured I might as well try. I get turned down, it would be because he was way out of my league.” 

“That must have really bothered you, hm?”

“Fuck off.” Sandalphon picks at his cuticles, tearing at the skin. “Yeah, it did. So what? I knew what the worst was when I first tried my luck. He agreed to it, anyway.”

“So that’s what you did, hm…”

Sandalphon stops tapping his foot, stares hard at Belial. “Are you asking me for advice?”

“Sandy, you’re so cute. I know you’re trying to gain some confidence, but I’m still leagues above you.”

“You _are_ asking for advice.” Sandalphon’s lips morph into a sheer as he parks his elbow on the table. “So he finally got fed up with you, huh. It’s about time he dumped your ass.”

Belial sighs. “You’ve got it all wrong. There’s nothing I can ask from a recently graduated virgin.”

“This recently graduated virgin is going to be with his boyfriend for a long, long time. Meanwhile, Lucilius is going to cut you off. I was wondering who’d crack first, since you’re both the worst, but I guess we know that now.” Sandalphon, usually coy, knows how to bring out the knives when he thinks he has the advantage. “I guess that he reached his limit first. Congrats.”

Belial clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “I know you like to project, but this is a reach. Oh? Unless… are you and Lucifer going through a rough patch?”

Sandalphon snaps back to irritation. “What? No.”

“I think you might be. I know you finally got it in, but it takes a while to pick up how things go. And Lucifer’s a man with experience… there’s no way you can match up to that.”

Belial pushes his pointer finger down on Sandalphon’s balled fist. “Ah, ah, ah. No assaulting customers while you’re on the clock. You can hit me, but if you do, you’ll get fired for sure.”

Sandalphon considers his visible work apron and paycheck, burning. “You’re right, I can’t hit you while I’m still clocked in.” He gets up, grabs his broom, and stomps into the kitchen. 

Belial laughs, but when Sandalphon comes charging back out, flinging off his apron, he knows to get gone.

 

* * *

 

“We’ve been trying to get in here for ages. The last time we tried, the line was out the door— on a rainy day.” Djeeta sighs happily, as she snaps a photo of her drink. “Gran, you’re making a face!”

Gran makes a sillier face than the one he’s currently making, and Djeeta lets out a groan, her latest selfie ruined. 

Belial clears his throat. “Want to know why I brought you two here?”

“Does it have to do with why you harassed Sandalphon at work the other day?” Gran asks. 

“You kids really know everything, huh?” 

Gran gives him a sly wink. 

With a sigh, Belial prepares himself. “It’s about Faa-san.”

“We’re not convincing Lucilius to participate in an orgy,” Djeeta replies, deadpan. 

“Why does everyone ask that too? No, it’s even deeper and more passionate.” The twins both sip idly at their drinks, staring at him, and Belial realizes that he’s not going to get them to ask first. The words in his throat can barely stick together, but he squeezes them out. “I want to make things more… permanent. Sandy was no help at all, but maybe you two have some words?”

“Damn. Okay.” Gran’s heavy boots knock against the table stem as he swings them back and forth. “So you want to pop the question?”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps definitely.”

He arches an eyebrow. “And how are you so sure?”

“You keep a coldblooded animal that never shows you affection and glares at you with ice blue eyes as a pet. Are you really gonna say you're not into the human version?” Djeeta cuts in without missing a beat.

“Sometimes a family is Eve, a serpent, and Eve the serpent,” Gran says with a knowing twinkle in his eye.

“You're both terrible,” Belial grumbles, the heat on his neck gratefully hidden by his collar.

With all the concern expected from him, Gran grins up at him. “I think it’s sweet. You have suggested the idea to him before?”

“Spontaneity is plenty erotic on its own, don’t you agree?” 

A tapping as Djeeta drums her straw against the bottom of her cup, looking for a better angle. “You should ask him if he’s okay with the idea before giving him a ring. If you spring it on him, especially in public, that’s coercion.”

“Faa-san definitely wouldn’t care if he turned me down in public. But you don’t have to worry about that.” As fun as showmanship is, he can appreciate private moments, just between the two of them. Lucilius hates being the center of public spectacle, and if Belial dares put him in the middle of one, that’s an easy way to make sure that Lucilius cuts his idea down on the spot. Might cut him down too. 

Djeeta shrugs. “Your funeral.”

“Does he know you were interested in this?”

“Honestly, up until a few days back, I didn’t know I was interested in it. But… if I push the idea carefully... should I ask him anyway?”

Gran slurps at his tea. “Yeah.”

Belial waits for a clarification that doesn’t come. “...Do you have anything else to add?”

“Not really, stop being a coward about it,” Djeeta adds.

Belial parks his chin on his hands and gives them a thin smile. “Thaaanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Gran shakes his drink, trying to get the remainder of his boba into the liquid. 

Now comes the hard part. Now comes the convincing. 

 

* * *

 

Lucilius is picking up a rat when Belial enters the room. He is soundless when he walks over to Eve’s enclosure, opening the door and sticking the rat in through the bars. Eve perks up instantly, eyes on the prize, darting out and killing in a single bite. 

“Giving her a nice treat today?”

“She’s been good.” 

He pauses when Belial pulls him close, hand on his hip to guide them together. Lucilius frowns at him, and when his frown doesn’t earn him any answers, he asks, “Do you need something?”

“Yeah. I have an idea, give it a listen?”

Lucilius doesn’t stop frowning, but he doesn’t object when Belial half-carries, half-pulls him into the bedroom. He sits on their bed, arms crossed, finger tapping against the curve of his elbow as a reminder that he doesn’t like to have his time wasted.

Belial isn’t the type to care about people’s displeasure, but there are always exceptions. If Lucilius shoots him down now, then maybe they won’t break up, but something will change between them, and not in a good way. But if he doesn’t, then he doesn’t gain anything either. He feels itchy under his fingers, a discomfort right between his joints, scratching.

Ah, hell. Fuck it. 

“Tax benefits.”

He could give the usual spiel about love and togetherness and how he eternally adores Lucilius, but he’s pretty sure that would only make Lucilius less receptive. He needs to go with a logic that Lucilius would actually follow.

“Not being single means that we have a small break on our taxes. And we get to share assets, just in case one of us dies young. Company when you get old, because if humans still are social animals and not having conversations in the day to day could lead to your faculties deteriorating— unless you decide to go out, and you’re not that type. Pooling our assets in case something goes wrong. Also joint custody of Eve.”

Lucilius is staring at him, pensive. He hasn’t said no just yet.

“And,” he says, reaching for Lucilius’ one weak point, “it would really annoy Lucio.”

“So what are you asking?” Lucilius says, and Belial can’t tell if he doesn’t know or if he’s asking for clarification.

“I want to know if you’d want to spend your eternity here. You know, hypothetically speaking.”

Lucilius clicks his tongue, and Belial watches him curl it inside his mouth. It's the longest minute of Belial’s life. 

“And what if, hypothetically speaking, I said I’d allow it?”

Belial’s heart stops and starts in a span of a second. Stars explode across his eyes, and he forgets his body for a moment. When he realizes that he still has flesh, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. “Then I’d ask you to have this.”

“Is this hypothetical too?”

“No.”

Lucilius flashes his teeth. “I will never wear something intended to mark me as your property in an antiquated, foolish, religion-based ritual—“

Belial opens the box, presenting the ring; a thin silver band in the shape of a snake, biting down on a small diamond. “It’s a little Eve.”

“Give me that.” Lucilius snatches the ring out of the box and rolls it between his fingers, considering it. The design’s not gaudy, more subtle, just the way Belial knows Lucilius likes it. “This isn’t going on my finger.”

“Doesn’t have to. As long as it’s yours.”

The glimmer in the eye of the snake has the same radiance of an icicle. Lucilius rubs his finger along the snake’s head, assessing. “What difference does it make to you?” 

The touch of smile on Belial’s face drops into caution. “What do you mean?” 

“What does a single ring and a piece of paper change? Are those supposed to be proof of loyalty?”

Belial takes a bite out of his cheek. He didn’t mean to imply something so crass. “I’m not… disproving your resolve.” He knows how much Lucilius is willing to do, what he has done, that he wouldn’t do for anyone else. “It’s like a college diploma.”

When Lucilius quirks an eyebrow, Belial leans up, pushing himself forward. “Even if I don’t have my diploma on display, I still graduated. It’s just a piece of paper, but it’s a piece of paper that means something. Something I’ve fought for.” Like his name change, his financial aid, the adoption papers that he’s ruined so many times. “You know I’m yours, you don’t need anything for that, but if there’s something physical, there’s a reminder. And the good thing about paper? It’s hard for any naysayers to disprove it without going through a ton of trouble.”

Lucilius continues rolling the ring between his fingers. “Reassurance.”

“Knowledge.”

Lucilius holds Belial’s eyes with his own. “Mine.”

Naturally. He takes Lucilius’ hand with the ring in it, and kisses it. “Yours.”

 

* * *

 

_Belial takes up the majority of the screen. He is in what seems to be his bedroom, in casual clothes._

 

**Belial**

So hello again, everyone. As I’m sure you’ve heard, Bubs did break the news last week, and I’m here to tell you that yes, it’s true. We will be putting out a new single, _Wordly Kingdom_ , at the end of June. Also, you’ll hear it from here first, but we’re also going to be doing another live tour, our Bartholomew Tour. Stuff on that is still in the works, but you’ve always been good at waiting for a nice release. 

Also, I’m getting married. 

_He winks at the screen._

You can preorder the album through our site or any of the usual venues, and I’ll be announcing tour dates later. Talk to you all soon.

 

 

The comments section explodes.

 

* * *

 

So. He’s getting married. Lucilius E. Bahamut (age 35, single), is now Lucilius E. Bahamut (age 35, engaged). He can safely say that this was not one of the intended trajectories in his life. For so long, people have been interchangeable blobs. A crowd of faces are all equally malformed, and easy to sublimate into nothingness. The only ones that stood out were his family, and those who might as well be as family. But not anymore. 

At family dinner, Lucilius eats in silence. He has nothing to add to the usual banter. He doesn’t really want to break the news to his family, only Lucifer deserves to know, but he knows exactly what kind of fuss Lucio will kick up if he finds out after the event. What a pain.

They’re all in the living room, and Sandalphon has just finished distributing coffee to everyone when Lucilius says, “Father. I’m getting married.”

Bahamut blinks. Lucio and Sandalphon nearly spit out their drinks. Lucifer puts his hands together, gasping softly.

“Start writing some checks.”

“Lucilius!” Lucio bolts up out of his chair. “Don’t be so rude!”

“How much are you thinking of?” Bahamut asks.

“Don’t indulge him either!” Lucio is quite the shade of pink. “And Lucilius, what do you mean? When did you decide this?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“Do you—“

Lucilius reaches down his shirt and pulls up the serpentine ring nestled at the end of a chain. “I already have a ring.”

Sandalphon looks flabbergasted between the two of them, owl-eyed. Belial slings an arm around him, grinning. “Guess I got into the family first, hm? Delay too much and you’ll lose out.”

“Shut the _fuck_ up.”

Lucio wrings his hands, still flabbergasted. “And what about—“

“We don’t have a date yet. But a winter celebration would be ideal.”

“And assets…”

“We have that taken care of. Belial has access to half my assets.”

“Will you at least sign a prenup…”

“No. He knows very well what will happen to him if he touches them.”

Lucifer sits beaming, like it had been his wedding that was announced. “I'm just so happy you found someone to complete you.”

“They're both sociopaths who need a shit ton of therapy or they'll end up murdering someone together,” Sandalphon says, deadpan. 

Lucifer turns to Sandalphon surprised. “But they're happy.” At Lucilius, he asks, “Aren’t you happy?”

Lucilius’ face contorts; Lucifer always asks the hard questions. He bites the inside of his cheek, and crosses his arms, letting out a, “Hn.”

Despite that reaction, Lucifer lightly touches Lucilius’ hand. When he isn’t shaken off, he wraps Lucilius in a hug. Lucilius freezes, chilled to the bone. He twitches, but Lucifer’s touch is light, a gentle touch across his shoulders. He doesn’t say anything to Lucilius tensing up, and he is bright with such genuine joy that Lucilius relaxes just a little. 

“Me too!” Lucilius hears Lucio one second before he feels his brother crash into him from behind. He twists, trying to wriggle free enough to pull his razorblade out of his pocket, but then Lucifer lets go of Lucilius to include Lucio in the hug too. If Lucilius pulls his razor out now, he would accidentally slash Lucifer. 

Pinned between his brothers, he can barely move. His head is on Lucifer’s chest, who smells like sharp cologne and coffee. Lucio’s arms are wrapped around his midsection, his long hair tickling Lucilius’ neck, shampoo overpowering rose and tangerine. He is tightly bound and uncomfortable and the contact sends tingles down his spine, an electric reminder. 

 

* * *

 

Hello, Lucilius!” Lucio peeks his head out of the kitchen, a french press in hand. “Just in time!”

Lucilius goes for his shoulder bag, but Gran snatches it away. Djeeta sidles up behind him and helps the jacket off his shoulders. He is disarmed and full of hate in his own home, but all he can grind out of his throat is, “Those had better not be my tea leaves.”

“I bought cookies,” Lucio hums. He’s already set the table for tea, using Lucilius’ tea cups and Lucilius’ plates. 

Lucilius goes for his bag again, but Gran steps back, just out of reach. “Did you let him in?” he snarls. 

“We picked the lock, but he found your address on his own. Just sit, okay?”

He glares at her, but she shrugs. A cursory glance around the apartment shows that not much has been moved; some clutter cleared off the couch, the remote control for the TV by the candlesticks instead of by the notepads. The kitchen is probably completely different, dishes stacked in a line the way Lucio does. Eve’s enclosure has been covered with a sheet. The bedroom door is still shut. The twins have likely suppressed most of Lucio’s worst bouts of curiosity.

He feels a soft touch on the side on his arm, as Djeeta tries to guide him. She doesn’t actually grab hold of him, merely steering him forward. At the table, he refuses to uncross his arms.

Lucio puts five lemon cookies on everyone’s plates and pours the tea— Lucilius’ good white peach tea. He sits down with a smile, tossing his long braid over his shoulder. “It’s been a long time since we had tea together.”

“Why are you in my apartment?” He’s already had enough of people intruding on his space. 

Just two weeks back, he opened the door to see a hulking blonde standing there angrily. The blonde had introduced himself as one of Belial’s band members, and then asked him, politely but curtly, if Belial was there. When Lucilius pointed to the bedroom, the blonde stalked past him, and Lucilius was treated to a good fifteen minutes of yelling consisting of, “You have a PR team for a reason!” and “You can’t announce giant things without consulting anyone!” Once the yelling subsided, the blonde reemerged, told him to “keep this moron in line,” and left. 

Lucilius really ought to ban all guests from his apartment.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Then call me on the phone.”

“You’d just hang up.”

Lucilius clicks his tongue. “I have something to do.”

Lucio tilts his head. “You just got home.”

“Precisely.” Lucilius reaches back and yanks the sheet off Eve’s enclosure. Lucio’s fingers miss his cookies by a hand’s length. Eve perks her head up when Lucilius opens the door, and she starts to curl around his shoulders as he helps her out. He won’t put her on the table; she might knock over a teacup and burn herself.

“She’s quite large, isn’t she?” Lucio says, voice a pitch higher than usual.

“Three feet. A little under a meter.”

“I-Interesting.” Lucio manages to get his hand around another cookie and shakily eats it. 

Lucilius watches him for a few long moments, calculating and recalculating. “What’s wrong? You’re quite pale. Are you feeling sick?”

“She doesn’t bite, does she?” Gran cautiously asks.

“Ball pythons are usually docile. She won’t do anything unless you scare her. You wouldn’t do anything like that, right?” Lucilius curls his fingers around his teacup, like he’s strangling it. “And why are you pretending to be shy? I thought you liked looking people in the eye.”

“I…I’m fine. I don’t want to impose.”

Lucio is presented as perfectly as he usually does; prim and proper, but he’s shaking now. His wide-necked sweater is starting to slip off one shoulder. Fear is smothering him, making him less exquisite. He’s always had a horrible phobia of snakes. Lucilius reaches up and gives Eve a nice pat atop her head. Eve yawns. 

Gulping down his entire cup of tea, Lucio forces a smile. He keeps his eyes slightly averted from Lucilius's face, and where Eve is. “Anyway, I just wanted to speak with you about your marriage.”

Lucilius narrows his eyes. “What about it?”

“Do you really want this?”

Warm blood slips down the back of Lucilius’ throat, dripping from when he bit down onto his tongue. He knew Lucio would hate the idea of him being with Belial, and now he has come to give his advice to break it up. Big brother, always caring, except when it didn’t suit his needs. “Since when have you ever cared what I wanted or didn’t want?” Lucilius’ words come out thin between his teeth. “This is happening, and you have no say in the matter.”

“True, I don’t.” Lucio pours himself another cup. “That’s why I want to know, if you want it or not.”

“Is the fact that I agreed to do so not enough for you?”

“I want to know if you agreed because you want to be with him, or because you think it would be disruptive to the family.”

He glances at Gran, who shakes his head. So Lucio doesn’t know about Lucilius’ investigation stint. Good. 

It _would_ grind on the family, especially Lucio. Sandalphon may be a former street punk, but he doesn’t make the gossip column headlines every other month. Belial is an offensive nightmare in the pristine house of Bahamut.

Belial is the true definition of hedonism, and yet, his hand in Lucilius’ has never been anything like that. Despite the prodding, despite the innuendos and constant reminders, Belial has proven that he’s worthy of Lucilius’ trust. He is safety in a world of thorns. Lucilius could drown, and Belial would jump in after him; to bring him to the surface, to stay with him. He had already decided that he was going to spend the rest of his life alone. But if he was going to allow someone to stay by his side, then...

“This is absolutely none of your business.” But knowing that Lucio won’t let things go until he gets a proper answer, Lucilius grumbles, “I chose him.”

He expects Lucio to do what Lucio does, make that big-brother-is-disappointed face, and tell Lucilius that he should really change his mind. He gets there halfway, pulling his lips down and softening his eyes, but he sips at his tea instead. “I see,” he replies evenly.

It shouldn’t bother Lucilius so much, but he’s always been bitter about his brother’s judgment. Gran reaches across the table and pushes Lucilius plate forward for him. Lucilius bites into a cookie, just to keep his teeth from grinding.

“Do you have a date?”

“No.”

“Do you know how to plan a wedding?”

“I could learn.”

Lucio smiles, irises glittering. “You’ve never liked planning social events.”

That is true, but he’d be damned if he admit it. Eve slides across his shoulders, making her way down his arms. “And?”

Lucio claps his hands. “Why don’t I help out?”

Djeeta chokes on her tea. 

It’s a struggle to not tell Lucio to shove his offer back down his throat, but Lucilius considers this for a moment. On one hand, he doesn’t want Lucio involved in his life. At the same time, if Lucio does all the planning for this wedding, then that’s work he doesn’t have to do. Also, Lucio can foot the bill. 

“You have several conditions. Non-negotiable.”

Perking up, Lucio leans forward. “Go ahead,” he says, barely able to keep the excitement out of his voice. 

“Nothing gaudy. This is going to be small and nondescript.”

“But—”

“Didn’t I just say non-negotiable?”

Lucio snaps his mouth shut. That’s nice. 

“There is to be the ceremony and party and nothing more. Belial and I will be making the final decision on who is being invited. You will not publicize or mention anything to anyone who doesn’t already know.”

Lucio inhales through his nose. “These all sound reasonable. I agree to the terms.”

“Well, that worked out—” Djeeta starts, but then Lucio reaches across the table and takes Lucilius’ hand in his own. Lucilius looks down at it, eyes wide, like he just realized he’d been tangled up in a rosebush and couldn’t free himself from the thorns. 

“I’ll make your day the best day ever. You’ll see.”

A thin smile creeps across Lucilius’ face, and he squeezes Lucio’s hand. Harder, harder, until it turns Lucio’s fingers white. “Now get out of my apartment.”

“It’ll be great! You’ll see!” Lucio calls behind him as the twins push him out the door. 

Lucilius throws the rest of the cookies into the trash, puts Eve back after giving her a nice scratch, and settles onto the couch with his tea. He holds it, but doesn’t drink it. He barely registers when Belial walks in, some time later.

He registers when Belial flops down onto the couch, knocking his head back against the backrest. Belial groans, kicking up his feet. “Home at last. Bubs loves running me ragged. Two interviews in one day is brutal, let me tell you.”

“Tired?” Lucilius mutely asks. 

“I feel like I just finished a ten person orgy.”

Lucilius can’t imagine what the scale of fatigue that would be, but sex with Belial left him exhausted and dehydrated, so that ten times over must be ten times as exhausting and dehydrating. “I see,” is all he manages in response.

“I’m spent. I do love a good marathon, but even a guy like me’s got to be careful just how many partners he dances with.” Even from here, Lucilius can see how his spine curves, confidence still keeping him upright, but tiredness pulling him down. Lucilius sips at his the remainder of his tea, letting Belial cool down in peace. 

Belial exhales, ever so slightly. Lucilius is suddenly aware that Belial is looking at him. “You don’t mind if I hold you for a little while, do you?”

That does rattle his teacup. Belial is looking at him with want, but it’s not a sexual want. Belial has always been the type of person who talks with his hands, and gets very antsy when he’s told to keep quiet.

Lucilius chews on his lower lip. He could allow it for a moment, as long as Belial’s hands don’t wander. It wouldn’t be as frightening if he knows it’s coming. “Fine,” he sighs, putting the empty cup down.

Belial pauses for a few seconds before he strikes, coiling his arms around Lucilius’ waist. He is the heavier one between the two of them, and they both go down. 

“Who said you could grab at me so fast, you degenerate?” 

“Sorry, Faa-san,” Belial mumbles, face along the top of Lucilius’ chest, not sorry at all. 

Lucilius feels wound up, a music box wound too many times. There’s a pressure all along his spine, and he is ready to stick Belial with something sharp when he does move. Turning his head against the side of the couch, Lucilius counts his breaths. 

One. Two. Three.

When his tenth breath comes, he is still stiff.

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.

When he gets to twenty-two, he realizes that he's thinking anticipation, but not feeling it. The pinpricks of fear and discomfort that are usually there aren't. He is supposed to be fearful, but he isn't.  Every time someone touches him, it feels like he's being crawled over by centipedes, but he doesn't feel those hundreds of legs on him right now. Belial is heavy, one of his arms is around Lucilius' back and that angle is pushing him up a little more than usual, and his hair reeks of cologne. He’s a weight, but a weight isn’t dangerous.

He isn’t about to start hugging Belial back, but with a sigh, he lets him be.

 

* * *

 

One of his lab techs catch sight of the chain around his neck, looping through the ring and pressing it to his chest. The ring is out of sight, hidden beneath his shirt, but the length of silver chain is still visible along the back of his neck. It’s the first time he has worn jewelry to work.

“Is that a gift?” she asks, once she’s done delivering an update of the latest results. 

“Yes.” He doesn’t look up when he replies. 

“Your boyfriend?”

“Fiancee, yes.”

Her mouth pops open, laced with a hundred questions, but she bites them all back with a smile. “Oh. Congratulations.”

Word travels fast, and when he passes by the main lab, he hears a few of them chatting. 

“I still can’t believe Dr. Bahamut got engaged,” one marvels. 

“To a human?” another asks. Lucilius vows to dock her pay. 

The lab techs buy him a cake at the end of the week. The frosting is a garish color that can only be artificial, it’s far too large for one person to eat, and he has to carry it in his arms out the door. 

Lucifer suggests they eat it together, and Lucilius will oblige. Today, he has Lucifer all to himself. Lucifer wanted to bring Sandalphon, but thankfully, Sandalphon is working a double shift and can’t make it. Better for him. It’s been a long, long time since he and Lucifer spent time by themselves, with work never lining up. 

They are not browsing any churches. Lucio has picked the church. Lucio is the only one of them that can pick a church. The address is a scribble on a sticky note that Lucifer has on the inside of his wallet. The actual church, parked midway on a hill in the middle of a nearby town, is no scribble. 

“Why this one,” Lucilius demands when Lucio picks up.

“Why what?” There’s a lot of background noise, chatter from the board meeting.

“The church. Why this one?”

“I thought you liked petty revenge.” Before Lucilius can reply, Lucio is apologizing for going back to work, and hangs up. 

They sit in the car in silence, gas off, windows shut, the sounds of the outside happenings partially reaching them. Lucifer is staring at his shoes, looking half contemplative and half uncomfortable. Lucilius himself is gripping his phone tightly, a bit too tightly. He passes two churches on his walk to work, and never feels a thing. It’s been a long time since they’ve been here. 

Lucilius thinks of Sundays spent there, at his mother’s congregation, under the stares of the adults horrified that he had a name like that, and the children who echoed their parents’ stares. They used to say things that they thought Lucilius couldn’t hear, or wasn’t smart enough to know what they were saying, but he heard them and he knew. They returned Lucifer’s kindness with disgust, because they thought that a young boy named after the devil must be the devil himself. And there were three of them. 

Lucifer catches him staring at the worn exterior and stained glass and eases him away. “You don’t have to have a church ceremony. You can do something else.”

Lucilius had borrowed one of Belial’s sweaters for the day, and he’d left his lighter in the side pocket. Sparking it to life, Lucilius looks at the flame, considering.

“As your brother, I understand.” Lucifer’s face is tense, as if he’d been expecting this. “As a lawyer, I’d have no choice but to give my full testimony as a witness.”

He snaps the lighter cap back on, pocketing it again. “Different church.”

“Different church.”

The wedding venue that Lucio picked out is at a country club that their father never frequents. There are three rooms to choose from; both medium, one by the large windows, the other overlooking an artificial pond. Lucilius chooses the one by the pond, in case he needs to shove anyone in.

Lucifer has brought the cake with him, and they steal a table and plates to eat some of it together. The frosting is even more sugary than it looks. Lucifer eats it happily regardless.

“I didn’t think you wanted to get married.”

“To Belial?”

“At all.”

“Is that bad?”

“Of course not.”

Belial’s patterns make Lucilius roll his eyes constantly. He oozes seduction and desire, and no matter how much he’s fed he will never be full. He will sink his teeth into whatever is in front of him, savor the taste, and chew until it’s gone. 

Lucilius is flavorless and poisoned and yet. 

“...I’m not very used to being wanted.” Not a part of him, or something he could do. Belial didn’t butter him up and then slowly start to replace him, piece by piece. Belial looked at him, entirely, and adored him the way he was, sharp edges and all. “Or someone trying to understand me.”

Lucifer could comment, but he bites into his cake and says, “Isn’t it nice?”

“It’s alright.”

Lucifer just smiles faintly, not commenting, but knowing.

 

* * *

 

Lucilius doesn’t know the first thing about clothing. Lucio knows too much about clothing. When Lucio strides into Lucilius’ office one day and announces that they are going shopping for wedding outfits, right now, Lucilius knows his day is going to hell. 

“There will be no bridal party, so there will be no matching outfits. Don’t waste my time.”

“Not for the party,” Lucio says in that tone of voice like Lucilius knows nothing. “For you.”

“I don’t need a special outfit.”

Lucio gives him a conspiratorial smile. He will not be deterred. “Everyone needs a special outfit.”

“I have suits.”

“Oh! Well prepared, I see. When did you buy them?”

“Five years ago? Maybe six.”

“You were that prepared for marriage? You never seemed that interested, not even in dating…”

“What? I bought them for my conferences.”

Lucio blinks at him, blank. “Your conferences.”

“Why else would I buy one? Point is, I already have a suit, I don’t need to get one just for the wedding. Although it was hard enough to get the first one. Ties too, how annoying.”

Lucio looks like he’s trying very hard not to say something.

“Nobody will take me seriously if I don’t show up in something semi-formal. Completely ridiculous, considering my work is what’s being presented. What difference does it make what I wear? One suit is enough. I can get it dry-cleaned in time.”

“I see. We’re going shopping.”

“What? Did you not hear what I just said?”

Lucio stalks behind the desk and pulls Lucilius up out of his chair like he weighed nothing. High fashion be damned, Lucio is toned underneath all those silks. “I did. Let’s go.”

“This is completely pointless. I know how to walk, don’t push me! A suit is a suit! What difference does it make— I said, stop pushing me!”

 

* * *

 

It takes them a grand total of half an hour to decide the guest list and seating arrangements; Belial has no family and Lucilius has no friends. 

Their cards are plain too; they do not include any photos or graphics, just that there’s a wedding, and the date, place, and time in printed script. Anyone who they’re sending it to knows of the occasion, so there’s not any need for reminders.

“Are we inviting Sandy?” Belial asks, checking another name off the list.

Lucifer will bring Sandalphon anyway, whether Lucilius wants him to or not. Or whether Sandalphon wants to come. “Since when are you so attached to him?”

“Attached?” Belial’s grin shows his sharp canines. “We need to show him how a real wedding is.”

One’s happiness is another’s unhappiness, or so the saying goes. A card goes out in Sandalphon’s name. 

Speaking of names. “Am I taking your name, or are you taking mine?”

“You don’t have one.”

Belial waggles his eyebrows. “Precisely.”

It would take some paperwork, some time, and a lot of confusion, but he could be free of the Bahamut name. All the long weeks he wanted to rend his skin to bits, his name not a comfort in who he was but stripping him of all that he ever was. Here is erasure, an offer to let the walls crumble. 

And yet.

“Unfortunately, if I do that, it’ll be a chore to get my scientific papers in order.” For an industry that looks into the future, they’ve always been keen to hold him back. 

Belial makes a sound in the back of his throat, disappointed. He parks his chin on his palm and frowns at the TV, like the blank screen will give him answers. There are no answers between them, not for a while. 

“Then let’s do it in reverse. I’ll take your name.”

Lucilius squints. Belial who worked impossibly hard to have no name or history, now wanting to attach himself to the legacy that are the Bahamuts. “Why? I thought you wanted to only be yourself.”

“You got that right.” Belial’s voice is flippant, the way it always is. “Fuck the state, and fuck the people who didn’t want me. But,” he gives Lucilius a small smile, soft without the fangs, “You’re stuck. I’ll stick with you.”

Lucilius feels a small pang of warmth. He is not used to feeling warm. It’s almost nice. 

“Besides, if I get the Bahamut name, whatever I do gets pinned on the family. Let’s give your old man and big brother hell.”

Lucilius scoffs, amused. “Let’s.”

They have thirteen people confirmed, including them, give or take about five people. Lucilius is doublechecking the list when he sees Belial fingering one of the extra cards, running his finger idly along the script.

“Is there someone else you want to invite?”

“Maybe.”

He is used to Belial being cryptic, and all his deflections when they happen. He is tired from being bombarded with work emails, and he knows Belial would tell him if it was really important. With a sigh, he waves his hand flippantly. “Then invite them. I don’t care.”

Belial pulls Lucilius in and kisses him on the cheek. Lucilius grumbles, mumbling about how he didn’t do anything to deserve that, but Belial is already writing an address. He doesn’t show Lucilius, but Lucilius dumps the whole band of finished envelopes in the mailbox regardless.

 

* * *

 

It’s clear that there’s a celebration happening, but nothing indicates that it’s a wedding. 

Belial’s out and about on the floor, having already nabbed a glass of champagne from the waitstaff, and is working his way through it when the band shows up. The twins are already out and about somewhere, and Sandalphon is staring in disbelief at the selection of food in the buffet. It shouldn’t be very crowded, and the largest party has yet to arrive. 

Az squeaks so loud she breaks the sound barrier, and she skips up to Belial, shaking his hand vigorously. “Belial, you really did it!” Iss pries her off with a sigh. They’re in matching dresses, purple and brown. 

“You look presentable, for once,” Bubs dryly remarks.

Belial shoots him a wink and loosens the buttons on his jacket, showing that he’s wearing nothing underneath. “Not for long, don’t worry.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you all in white before,” Iss remarks. 

“Change of pace.” He spent a long time thinking about this outfit, simple jacket tied shut with a ribbon around the waist, plain trousers, patterned velvet running down the sides. No shirt, of course, he needs to show off his best assets. He can never be _too_ presentable. 

Bubs pushes past Belial to make his way to the bar, and Avatar shakes a finger by his chest. 

“Who, Faa-san? He’s somewhere, being tortured by his big brother.”

As if summoned, Lucilius storms out of the back room, leaving a commotion behind. Belial has seen Lucilius’ suit before when he brought it home, stuffed it into a dress bag and then unceremoniously tossed it into the closet (which is probably why earlier when Lucio unzipped said bag, he cringed and sent the twins to fetch an iron), but now’s different. Lucilius is dressed in the night sky; his jacket slender and long-sleeved with a ruffled train that extends to his knees. His shirt beneath is plain and high-collared, right by the beaded constellations that stretch across his shoulders. While he tends to wear dark colors, Lucilius doesn’t usually dress in all black, that’s Belial’s thing, but they’ve agreed to switch color schemes for the day. 

Said night sky and stars snatches a glass of wine from a tray, takes a sip, looks at Belial and says, “Are you going to put on a shirt?”

“I need to show everyone what they’re missing out on.”

Lucilius knits his eyebrows together, pointedly ignores when Belial bends over seductively. He starts to say something, but he’s not prepared for the ball of energy that’s Az. 

She bounds up to him, just short of tackling him like a football linebacker. “Hi, I’m Az! I’m part of the band! Are you the mysterious boyfriend?” The fussing starts instantly as Az tries to take all that is Lucilius in at once, and Belial has to pointedly move her away. “You are real!”

“Of course I’m real,” Lucilius snarls. 

"How come you never show up to our concerts?"

Lucilius grimaces. "Why would I go to a concert?"

Az gasps in delight. "It’s true!"

“What’s true?”

“Told you,” Belial nods in understanding. 

“You told her what?”

“Lucilius! Lucilius, get back here!” Lucio comes hurrying down the stairs, charging straight for his brother. If you shone a light on Lucio, you could blind everyone in the whole room. Whatever he has on looks like a combination of a tuxedo and a dress, with golden flower branches stitched all over. With the golden beads and sequins on pure white, he looks downright angelic, it’s off-putting. 

“No. Shut up. You’ve used me like a dress-up doll enough.”

Lucio huffs, but twists his brother around and buttons the back of his high collar anyway. 

Lucilius goes to claw his brother away, but Lucifer steps between them. Lucifer is dressed in a traditional suit, nothing special, but he looks as sharp as ever. As always, his presence quells the fighting.

“What is with this family of beautiful people?” Iss mumbles. 

There are tables and chairs to sit down, and a few stools by the bar, but it's fairly sparse. The twins have somehow roped Lucilius into taking selfies with them, which will no doubt be an experience once they actually have time to look through them. Lucilius ruins one photo when he makes a face as soon as he spots Lucio headed his way with Belial in tow. “It’s quite late. I know not everyone is here, but when are we heading over to the church?”

“What? Why would we go to a church?”

“To… have your ceremony.”

“Oh. Yes, that. We did that already.”

Lucio blinks. “What?”

“We went to the courthouse and had our ceremony,” Lucilius evenly responds. 

“It was a gripping, passionate experience…” Belial sighs happily. “And then Faa-san thought that the clerk was taking too long, so he told them to hurry up. We finished up the whole thing in five minutes.”

"So then..."

"We're already married."

Lucio looks slightly faint. Gran hops up to catch him in case he actually does fall over. “Then why did you have me book a session?”

“We changed our mind. Thanks though.”

Rubbing his temples, Lucio sighs. Unspoken words go unspoken. “I should have known you’d pull something like this.”

Lucilius raises his glass.

The room isn’t that large, so it’s easy to spot when people enter and exit. The waitstaff are easy to spot in their blacks and whites, but the small group that enters is new. “Wel...come.” Belial’s voice dies when he sees who is their newest guest. 

Marveling at the buffet, Grimnir squeaks, “Scallops? Are those scallops as snacks? Wow, wow!” Much less enthused is Alexiel, standing there with her arms crossed, glare enough to set the whole room on fire. Twice.

Belial does not have a few minutes to collect himself, so all he manages in a few seconds is, “Hi, guys. Long time no see.”

Grimnir sees him then, and his bright spring air turns tepid. He isn’t angry, but he looks confused, lost in disbelief. Alexiel just looks angry, still burning with it when she stomps forward, hands balled into fists. Sandalphon needs to swerve out of her way when she surges forward. 

“Big sis, you’ve really grown into a beauty. You look really toned in that shirt, been keeping up the jock lifestyle, hu—“ Belial’s words are cut short by the echoing thump of Alexiel’s Olympic-level left hook colliding with his stomach.

“Oh my god,” Lucifer mutters in stunned disbelief. 

“Oh my god!” Sandalphon exclaims, delighted.

Belial is on the floor, wheezing for breath, but he still chuckles. “You’re just as feisty as ever,” he coughs out. 

Alexiel squats, grabbing his jacket and dragging him up to meet her. “You will call him every weekend,” she says, her tone indicating no room for argument. “And you’ll do it, unless you’re in a coma or actually dead. Do you hear me?”

“Gotcha, gotcha. Did you have to hit me so hard?”

“You’re lucky this is all I’m doing. You deserve much more. Far more.”

“Thanks for the change of heart then.”

“Oh…” comes a voice from behind them, ragged and cracked. Sariel, already gangly, is wobbling on his long legs. His mouth has slightly fallen open, eyes blown wide.

“Hey, Sarry.”

“Is it… is it really you?” He starts to say a name, but Belial shakes his head. 

“It’s Belial now.”

“Be...lial.” Sariel tests the name out in his mouth. “Belial.” He comes forward, but when he drops down next to his sister, he pauses. “How do I know….”

“You could win any fight, but you hated fighting.” Belial’s expression is smooth, the smile on it telling nothing. “When Greta broke her arm, you stayed with her until they could get her to a doctor, even if it was her fault.”

On the verge of tears, Sariel touches Belial’s shoulder, feeling fabric that’s real and not a dream. He drops his head onto Belial’s shoulder and doesn’t move. Belial sighs, like the whole thing is so much trouble, but he pats Sariel’s back.

“What is all this noise?” Lucilius enters the fray, Lucio close behind him, already annoyed. He catches sight of the new guests, and connects the dots. “I see. Belial, if you’re going to stay on the floor, then do so for the rest of the evening.”

“How cruel,” Belial sighs, voice laced with delight as he gets up. 

Grimnir gasps, looking at the new arrivals. He clasps Lucio’s hands. “You look amazing! Are you the groom?”

“ _I’m_ the groom.” Lucilius is already at peak annoyance, and his tone slaps Grimnir hard. 

Alexiel huffs as Grimnir shrinks back, but Sariel is already looking wide-eyed at Lucilius. He pauses, drawing out a long moment. “Mr. Gaius?”

Grimnir and Alexiel snap their heads Lucilius’ way. Lucilius shakes his head. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“No… I don’t think…”

“Hm? Hmm?” Grimnir holds up his fingers across Lucilius’ face, trying to block out parts where band-aids might have been. “If he was a blonde, then maybe…”

Alexiel massages the bridge of her nose, having realized the deception. “Unbelievable. Truly unbelievable. Two liars. You really are suited for each other.”

With a shade of something that might be a smile, Lucilius says, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Is that so?” Alexiel pats Sariel on the back, letting him wipe his tears. “Text us once you’re done here, and we’ll come pick you up. If he does anything to you to get you upset, anything at all, tell me.” 

Sariel gives them a soft wave as they take their leave, Grimnir making sure to grab a plate of food on his way out. Lucifer helps Belial up, and the attention returns back to whatever conversations people were having before. Sandalphon cuts to Sariel’s side, drink in hand. “So, Belial, why don’t you introduce me to this friend of yours? It sounds like he has a lot of stories.”

Belial snickers, knowing exactly what Sandalphon is trying to do. Then he remembers that Sariel is a terrible liar. Slinging an arm around Sandalphon, he starts walking. “Say Sandy, why don’t we talk in private? Give me a nice parting gift before I become an exclusive man.”

“Stop trying to deflect,” Sandalphon snarls, but with Belial’s arm snagged tight around his, he has no choice but to be dragged away. 

Lucilius and Sariel end up the only ones remaining, standing beside each other. Sariel silently stares at Lucilius for so long that Lucilius finally grumbles, “What? Do you have something to say?”

“Mr. Gaius, you’re marrying Belial?”

“I told you, that’s not my name. It’s Lucilius.”

Sariel studies Lucilius for a few more seconds and cracks a smile. “I’m learning a lot of new things today. I have a brother… and a brother in law.”

“I suppose you do.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t bring a present…” 

"I don't care for presents."

Sariel looks at his shoes, still guilty even though Lucilius wouldn't care. He fumbles with his fingers before pulling out one of the hairpins keeping his bangs in place. "Here you go," he says, placing it in Lucilius' palm.

"I don't wear jewelry.”

He keeps it pinned to his sleeve anyway.

 

* * *

 

Lucilius is on his third cocktail and seventh congratulations when a small party enters the room; a man and a woman, flanking a petite woman in men’s trousers. Grey is blended into her thick brown hair, and even though she walks light, it’s with importance. “Hello-o!” the petite woman calls out, her voice high above the chatter. 

The twins react first, rushing over and sweeping her up in a hug with cries of, “Miss Siero!”

She hugs them back, laughing. “You two are as well as ever!” Quick on her feet, she instantly picks Lucilius out in the crowd and grabs him by his train. “And how’s the groom today?”

Lucilius grunts, but lets her pat his hand. “I didn’t think you’d make it.”

She shushes him. “You didn’t think I would miss this, would you? I made plans as soon as I got the invitation!” Miss Siero pulls at his suit, turning him around as she makes small noises of approval in the back of her throat. “I never thought you of all people would get married!”

“To be fair, none of us did,” Djeeta pipes up. 

Miss Siero gestures at Lucilius, and he leans down to her ear. “Of course, you won’t forget our agreement, right?”

“She didn’t do anything.”

“Of course, but you borrowed her expecting that she would, no?”

Lucilius rolls his eyes. “Next paper I publish, you’ll be the first to see it.”

“Excellent! I already have a buyer lined up.”

Belial passes by on the way to the bar, and Lucilius yanks him over, not caring if Belial spills the drink in his hand. “New husband. Good for nothing.”

“More than your brother?” Belial fakes a gasp. “I’m honored.”

Miss Siero hums, looking Belial up and down, like he’s a puzzle to take apart. “He’s a dramatic one, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” Lucilius assents.

“Hey, bad impression of me already?”

“Are you trying to give a good impression?”

“Fair enough, fair enough.”

“But he’s exactly what his profile says.” Bahamut walks up to them, nodding at the newcomers. “Sierokarte.”

Miss Siero laughs, and calls him by his first name, which turns about every head within earshot. “You never age at all, do you? How was the bill?”

“Not as high as I thought it would be,” he says, that faint mysterious smile on his face. “We’ll see what the bill is like when it’s Lucio’s turn.”

“If it’s ever his turn,” Lucilius snidely remarks. 

“You never change either.” Miss Siero nudges Lucilius in the middle of his back as she pulls his father towards the bar. 

Belial watches the two of them go. “She’s a lot more excitable than I thought she’d be.”

“She does enjoy surprises,” Lucilius notes, and abandons Belial for the buffet.

Belial shrugs, and wonders if the patio is open to get some fresh air. A slender woman in a black dress is the next to approach him. Her footsteps are soft, and if he hadn’t been tuned into a lifetime of caution, he wouldn’t have heard her approach at all. Still, he pretends like he’s surprised when she taps his shoulder, and gives her a PR smile. 

“So you’re the groom.” The feathered comb in her hair gleams black in her auburn hair when she sticks out her hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you face to face.”

One of Miss Siero’s guards. “Of course, of course. I’ve heard a lot about Miss Siero, but this is the first time meeting her properly.”

She laughs. “She’s always on the move. It’s a little hard to get hold of her.”

“In that case, count me honored that an arms dealer’s guard knows about my music. I’ve reached further than I thought.”

“Are you a musician! Isn’t that something, I wouldn’t have expected that for Lucilius.”

“Ahh, now I’m embarrassed. My mistake.”

“Oh, you don’t need to be.”

Lucilius is safeguarding himself from the crowd by pinning himself right by the refreshments table, and Belial makes his way over. “Hey, Faa-san, how does she know me?”

Lucilius follows Belial’s finger to the guard, currently chatting with Lucifer. “Twewyn?”

“Yeah, her. You didn’t include a picture of me in the invitations, did you?”

“No, she’s met you before.” Lucilius taps a finger on his glass in thought. “Although perhaps met is too strong a word. She’s seen you.”

“When? I’ve got a pretty good memory, you know? I remember the face of every fan who I’ve done a meet and greet with.” And all the groupies he’s bedded. “She’s never come to one of those— and she didn’t even know I made music.”

“Remember when you decided to disconnect your brain and run away?”

“Hey, I thought we were over that. And weren’t the twins flying the helicopter? And wasn’t it your dad’s?”

“She wasn’t flying it. She made sure nothing went wrong— behind a scope.”

Belial’s blood turns to ice.

Lucilius sees the tension on Belial’s face and quirks his lips up. It’s more a gash on his face than a smile. “You didn’t think I’d confront you unprepared, did you? But you weren’t a company spy, so there was no need for that.” He reaches up and pats Belial’s cheek. “You may have rotted your brain for a moment, but it wasn’t the worst choice you could have made.”

Belial stands there for a long, long moment. He traps Lucilius in a loose hug, burying his face in Lucilius’ neck. “Faa-saaaaaan. You know I adore you, right?”

“Why are you touching me. Stop it. And you’d better, considering what today is.”

The catering staff brings out the cake— Lucilius always did prefer having dessert first— and everyone marvels at it. It’s nothing special, it doesn’t even have decorations on it, but it is quite large. “A quarter of that is mine,” Lucilius announces, and nobody is surprised. 

“It’s sweet!” Az loudly chirps, and tries for another slice. Iss has to hold her back. 

Lucifer takes two pieces, one for him and Sandalphon. Halfway through his slice, Lucifer is still thoughtfully chewing. “Sandalphon, do you think it tastes strange?”

Sandalphon quirks an eyebrow. “Strange?”

“It’s chocolate mousse, but there’s something besides that.”

“Some citrus, right? That’s the filling?”

“No… something else.”

Sandalphon tries another bite, rolling it around his mouth. “Kind of hard to tell, but it tastes kind of like apple.”

“Oh.” Lucifer’s eyes widen. “Oh no.” 

Something shatters. Lucio grabs at the nearby table, one hand on his throat. Gran and Djeeta instantly break whatever conversation they’re having and charge over. 

Lucilius gets there first, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. “Trouble breathing. Quick pulse.” He tears open one of Lucio’s sleeves, feeling the skin underneath. “Hives.” Gran gets close first, and Lucilius yells, “Do you have his epi-pen?”

Gran fumbles in his shoulder bag and procures the equipment in question, popping it out of the container. Lucilius snatches it out of his hand, flips off the safety, and jams it into Lucio’s thigh at full force.

The worst is over, emergency services have been called. Djeeta has carried Lucio into one of the side rooms to lie down away from the crowd. Belial picks at the fallen pieces of porcelain that was once Lucio’s plate. “Looks like he didn't eat that much. Was he always allergic?”

“Since he was young.” Lucilius is dabbing at his train with a napkin to get rid of the frosting smeared into the ruffles, and not doing a very good job at it. 

“I called Fif and Niyon in,” Miss Siero tells Bahamut, her cheerful voice is hard in business mode. “They’ll take care of him.”

“Perfect, thank you.” Bahamut then turns to Lucilius, the flecks of gold in his eyes visible when he frowns, “What have I told you about poisoning your brother?”

Indignant, Lucilius rolls his eyes, and tosses the worn napkin over his shoulder. “I won’t take the blame this time. The caterer made a mistake.”

Still, he has a faint smile on his face for the remainder of dinner. 

 

* * *

 

At dinner, Lucilius eats as sparsely as usual, and Belial is even more careful not to splash anything on his clothes. There’s some perverse commentary, as there always is, and Belial does end up being punched in the arm a few times. Sariel is the only other person sitting at their table, and he watches the two of them, mostly. The jazz band plays steadily in the background, slow and easy music. 

“Are we giving speeches?” Sariel asks, midway through the meal. “Weddings have speeches… I think.”

“Sure, why not?” Belial swipes the microphone from the podium and tosses it over to Lucilius. “We weren’t really going to have a speech time, but why don’t we hand it off to one person? Pick, dear.” 

“Call me dear again and I will rip your tongue out.” Lucilius stares at the microphone in thought before walking over to where Lucifer is sitting and handing it over. 

Lucifer taps the microphone to check the sound and clears his throat. “I think everyone already knows what I have to say. Let me pass it along to someone new, someone very dear to me,” and he hands the microphone to Sandalphon. 

Sandalphon’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head. With a smile, Lucifer closes Sandalphon’s fingers around the microphone, gesturing for him to stand up. 

In the spotlight, Sandalphon coughs. He looks at the crowd he mostly doesn’t know. “I’m Sandalphon. Hi. I’ve known both grooms for a while. They’re both… very special people. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else like them.” Lucifer gives him a thumbs up, and he musters up his words. “So uh, we are gathered here today to celebrate the wedding of the worst person in the universe and the second worst person in the universe.”

Lucifer blinks, confused. Lucilius clicks his tongue, and Belial tries to hide his laughter behind his hand.

“I was going to say that this is a horrible event but actually, now that I think about it, this is a good thing. If they’re together, maybe they’ll leave the rest of us alone. Congratulations.”

The twins burst out laughing. “This kid gets it,” Bubs says approvingly from the band’s table. 

“Thank yooooou, Sandy!” Belial snatches the microphone back. “Isn’t Lucifer’s boy toy something?”

Sandalphon flips him off. 

Belial considers the microphone as he hops onto the podium where the jazz band is playing. “Most of you know me, a few of you don’t. I never thought I’d get married, but there’s a first time for everything. So! In honor of the man I’m tying myself to--”

All eyes turn to Lucilius, who is currently in the middle of chewing on a stubborn piece of steak. He glares at them until they look elsewhere.

“—I’d like to do something in his honor.” He takes two pieces of paper from his pocket and hands them to the pianist. “As you know, I’ve got quite the voice, and I can howl really nicely. The band has a lot of tunes, but one’s close to my heart; the one before we really made it big, our very first single.”

Gran and Djeeta crack up. Then the pianist starts playing the first few opening notes. They look over to Lucilius, sees that his expression is his usual bored neutrality and not disgust or surprise. Sandalphon looks over, and the three of them exchange horrified glances.

Djeeta leaps up, yelling, “Cut the mic, cut the mic!”

The pianist keeps going, and the twins and Sandalphon take off running.

Belial gets about five lines in before Sandalphon tackles him to the floor. 

The guests are stunned silent, all but Lucifer and Sariel. Lucifer claps lightly. “Belial is very talented,” he comments. Sariel claps earnestly. And Lucilius— he looks on the verge of combusting, face flushed two shades redder. 

Sandalphon drags Belial up by his collar, hissing through his teeth, “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Nice, Sandy. I know you’re still learning the ropes, but if you want to sing too, then hold that microphone the way you’d hold a d—”

Sandalphon punches Belial in the face. 

“Sandalphon!” Lucifer gasps, right before Belial’s foot nails Sandalphon right in the stomach. 

“I changed my mind,” Bubs says from the band’s table, “This is the best night of my life.”

Djeeta snatches the forgotten microphone off the floor. “Well, how was that?” She scurries back to the bewildered jazz band, quickly giving them instructions to get back to normal as the fight escalates in the background. 

“It’s the 80’s all over again,” Miss Siero chuckles.

“Indeed,” Bahamut says, sipping at his wine, “Less quaaludes, though.”

Both of Miss Siero’s guards look at them. 

Sariel and Gran somehow manage to peel Sandalphon and Belial off each other, and Djeeta whips the band back into shape, pulling out a slow classical melody. 

Gran hurries to Lucilius’ side, motioning him up, but Lucilius is still frozen with fury. He is in such a state that he barely reacts when Gran eases him up out of his chair and guides him to the center of the room. Seamlessly, Bahamut crosses the floor and extends a hand to his son. That snaps Lucilius back to reality. Bahamut smiles. Lucilius hisses but is pulled onto the floor. 

They have danced before. It’s been a long time since his debutante ball, but Lucilius has practiced, even if he is light and inelegant and not a dancer. The steps come out of the deep corners of his mind, slow and hazy but present. Belial manages to get to his feet, still dazed, but then Sariel offers his hand. Belial stares at it, torn between his brain still rattling around in his head and processing what’s happening in front of him, but grins. Sariel definitely does not know how to dance, but Belial eases him into the steps. Neither pair is particularly elegant, but it gets the job done. 

“You remember how to dance.”

“And you don’t have arthritis. Yet.” Lucilius says this, but his father is still a far better dancer than he is. Lucilius ends up catching his father’s toes more than once, and not even purposefully. “You don’t deserve this dance.”

“Perhaps.” Bahamut looks at his son, at the sharp intake of his breaths, the shadows and furrows beneath his eyes. “I know you don’t believe me—”

“I don’t.”

“—But I am happy for you.” Then he lets Lucilius go and sublimates back into the crowd. 

Lucifer stands, reaching for Sandalphon, who pauses but takes it. The twins drag Miss Siero’s male guard, a blonde with unbrushed hair, into something that can only be described as a tornado. Lucilius takes a step, but then he’s caught, send stumbling backwards into Belial. 

“You’re so quick to escape,” Belial hums, taking the first step that Lucilius follows. “Without leaving a dance for me? You always know how to keep me on the edge.”

They turn this way and that, to the window and the pond for drowning, to the walls speckled with dim lights, to the people trapped in dance steps the same way they are, and they are in the center of the room but also in the same space where shadows overlap. Belial runs warm, embers that could spark into a fire, and Lucilius can feel the blood in his veins. Lucilius’ hand in Belial’s is chillier than ice, stiff on the tiled floor. They are the axis on which the world turns. 

As soon as other people start crowding the floor, Lucilius makes a quick escape. Belial accepts it with a grin, knowing. 

Outside of the main hall are a few rooms, furnished with sofas and plush chairs overlooking an empty fireplace. Lucio is on one of the sofas, his hair pulled out of his bun to sprawl all over the armrest. Two women are sitting nearby, the younger one keeping track of his pulse.

“Did the EMTs already come?”

“Yes, we got him to throw up.” says the other woman, her voice composed but melodic. “He didn’t ingest too much, so the symptoms weren’t as bad as they could have been. He also refused to go to the hospital.”

“I’m fine.” Lucio still looks worse for the wear, hand on his throat to make sure that he’s still breathing right. Lucilius sits next to him, not caring if his train drapes all over Lucio’s legs. “I know you did that on purpose,” Lucio’s voice is faint and slightly wheezy. 

“I told Father, the caterer must have gotten the order wrong. Maybe they saw the note for ‘no apples’ as ‘add apples’.”

“You,” Lucio punctuates each word on its own, “are a headache.”

“Delighted to hear that.”

Lucio stares at him with that eerie, probing stare. Lucilius never liked that stare, the kind that makes it feel like he’s being peeled down to his skeleton. But that stops, and Lucio looks back at the ceiling. “But you’re my brother.”

“Just disown me instead.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to poison me,” Lucio curls his lips up in a sly grin. “I have two siblings, one of them is the best, and one of them is the worst.”

“Aren’t you tired of the divinity act?”

Lucio kicks Lucilius in the shin and he goes flopping off the couch. Lucilius snarls, but Lucio leans his cheek on his hand, looking down. “Congrats on getting married, upstart little brother.”

“Drop dead.”

Lucio laughs, but it still sounds wheezy. “Someday, but not today. When I’m gone, what are you going to complain about?”

Lucilius snorts, jabbing Lucio in the stomach. 

 

* * *

 

No sooner had Belial opened the door to their hotel room, Lucilius kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the bed like a dead fish. He lays splayed out, drumming his heels against the mattress. 

Belial sidles next to him, peeling the jacket from Lucilius’ shoulders and throwing it onto a nearby chair. “Spent?”

“Exhausted,” comes thin.

Laughing, Belial turns Lucilius onto his stomach. His palms go flat against Lucilius’ shoulders, easing the tension out. “Think it went well?”

“As well as it could have gone, minus a few humiliations.”

Belial works his hands down Lucilius’ spine, carefully kneading and pressing. Lucilius doesn’t make to lift his face out of being buried in a pillow, but he does let out a contented hum of approval. 

“It’s our wedding night, you know.”

“It is.”

Belial bends down, whispering against Lucilius’ ear. “I have an idea.”

Lucilius half-swats at him, arms too tired to be fully mobile. “I’m tired.”

“I know, I’ve been sucked dry too. But, I have an idea.”

“You made it happen already, didn’t you?”

“I might have made some preparations. You know you said that thing you didn’t want to do?”

“Which one?” Lucilius grunts when Belial tells him. “That one.”

“So how about it?”

“No, Belial.” 

“Please? How about giving something new a try?”

Lucilius sits up, cricks his shoulders and lets out a long sigh. “Alright, fine. Just this once.” 

Feverish, Belial grabs at Lucilius, pulling him in by his waist. “You’re going to have a great time, I promise. It’s going to be hot and heavy and full of sweat, and you’re going to love it. By the time we’re done, you’re going to change your mind, you’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

Lucilius exhales, stones punctuated with water jets drumming along his back, and endless back and forth. “It’s not bad.”

“Told you.” Belial is next to him, submerged up to his chest. “What did I say! Spas are an experience.”

The bath they’re in is one of the hotter ones, but not as hot as some of the herbal baths. Lucilius was fine in those, but shrieked when he tried the cold bath. No surprise, he doesn’t have many insulating layers on him. They’ve settled in the midway-warm jacuzzi with massage jets kneading out the stress of the day. It’s an atrocious time at night, but they’re both fully awake even if they’re exhausted.

Nobody else is in the baths but them, nobody is in the building but them and the staff, but Lucilius still sinks down into the baths when he thinks he hears footsteps. “They’re not going to say a thing,” Belial tells him, certain. 

“You didn’t have to buy out the entire spa.”

“It’s just for the night. And of course I had to, you wouldn’t come otherwise.”

Lucilius quirks an eyebrow in assent. He reaches towards the edge of the bath to grab his drink— brightly colored, far too sugary— balanced precariously on the edge. It’s peaceful; the warm water, steam, massage jets, cold drinks, just the two of them. No other patrons, no wedding guests.

The serpentine ring on its silver chain bobs up to the surface as the water bats it back and forth. A matching band is thin but glimmers on Belial’s hand. Belial reaches that same hand out and puts his arm around Lucilius’s shoulder. Lucilius snaps his teeth and threatens to saw Belial’s hand off, but he doesn't move. 

“It’s just you and me,” Belial tells him. “Just you and me until the end of the world.”

“Since when were you so overly sentimental?”

“Only for you,” Belial says, and it’s no tease, no seduction, no question, only the answer. “And you know I make your life _much_ more exciting than it used to be.”

Lucilius sighs. There are way too many sex toys in one of the bureaus in their bedroom, and the mice squeak whenever one of them enters the kitchen. Belial is still disgustingly hedonistic, wears shirts that have a cut far too low, and thinks that wearing towels when he comes out of the shower and walks around is a choice. 

Despite this, his life is far more enjoyable than he’s given it credit for. Their apartment isn’t anything like the Bahamut mansion. And Belial… he’s alright. He doesn’t know everything about Lucilius, but he knows enough, and he’s still there regardless. 

Belial raises his glass, gives Lucilius a knowing grin. Lucilius rolls his eyes, but clinks his glass against Belial’s. 

Out of all the people in the world, he will allow this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a wild ride!  
> A true thanks to everyone who supported this fic, to everyone who has a good time with it. I’ve made a lot of friends through this! You all made this experience a delight.  
> Special thanks to Miyu, my co-creator, who came up with this idea with me. This started out as a joke and look how far it’s come.  
> This is the first longfic that I’ve managed to finish, so I’m very happy about that. Sometimes the thing that motivates you to write a thing this long are two bastards in a silly gacha game.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, some more art!
> 
> From Chiyuki: [Suit Faa](https://twitter.com/chiyuki0_/status/1231363704068820993)


End file.
